ROBERT  SEVERNE 


HIS  FRIENDS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES. 


A    NOVEL. 

--*-. 

BY 

WILLIAM  A.  HAMMOND. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1867. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1806,  by 
J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    &    CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. — A  den  and  its  occupants 5 

II. — Which  is  retrospective  of  Goodall 12 

III. — Which  introduces  the  reader  to  the  chief  heroine, 
and  shows  why  John  Holmes  and  Goodall  were 
unhappy  on  the  last  day  of  the  year 16 

IV. — John  Holmes  and  his  man 31 

V. — In  which  the  hero  and  his  next  friend  appear 

upon  the  stage 36 

VI. — In  which  the  reader  is  made  acquainted  with 

some  of  Severne's  thoughts  and  designs 62 

VII. — The  meeting  of  Margaret   and   Sarah,  and  the 

effect  upon  the  latter 64 

VIII. — "Mens  insana  in  corpore  insano" 73 

IX. — Mrs.  Wiggins  speaks 92 

X. — Mr.  Freeling  appears  as  a  prominent  character 

and  begins  operations 102 

XI. — In  which*  the  hero  and  heroine  meet  for  the  first 
time,  and  in  which  the  former  indulges  his 
bibliomaniacal  propensity 117 

XII. — "Sans  peur  et  sans  reproche" 127 

XIII.— The  old  love  and  the  new 132 

XIV. — "Go  and  sin  no  more." 144 

XV. — In  which  some  plans  are  formed  and  others  are 

brought  to  an  end 150 


2052373 


iv  CONTENTS. 

• 

CHAPTEE  XVI. — In  which  the  uncertainty  of  human  expecta- 
tions is  thoroughly  demonstrated  in  more 
than  one  instance 160 

XVII. — In  which  there  is  a  little  comforting  philosophy  176 

XVIII. — What  Brother  Jenkins  and  Mrs.  Wiggins  said 

and  did 187 

XIX. — In  which  certain  matters  of  importance  are 

settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  concerned..  199 

XX.— Negotiations 216 

XXI. — In  which  Severne,  Margaret,  and  John  Holmes 
are  shown  to  be  on  the  high  road  to  happi- 
ness   229 

XXII. — In  which  Severne  discovers  Sarah's  parentage  236 

XXIII. — Mr.  Freeling  shows  himself  to  be  master  of 

the  situation 246 

XXIV.— Prairie  life 255 

XXV. — In  which  Ulrich  de  Hutten  tells  his  wonderful 

story 264  » 

XXVI. — In  which  Mr.  Freeling  discovers  that  he  cannot 

have  everything  his  own  w.ay 291 

XXVII. — In  which  Margaret  and  Sarah  discover  the 
reason  why  they  had  fallen  in  love  with  each 
other  at  first  sight 299 

XXVIII. — "Utamaris  amabilis  esto" 304 

XXIX.— The  beginning  of  the  end..! 312 

XXX. — In  prison  321 

XXXI.— The  trial 326 

XXXII. — In  which  Severne  has  most  of  the  conversa- 
tion to  himself. 343 

XXXIII. — In  which  matters  generally  are  brought  to 
satisfactory  conclusions,  and  this  history 
brought  to  an  end 363 


EGBERT    SEYERNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A    DEN    AND    ITS    OCCUPANTS. 

IN  one  of  the  most  crowded  thoroughfares  of  New  York, 
there  stood  several  years  ago  an  old  brick  building  black 
with  age,  and  altogether,  in  an  architectural  point  of  view, 
far  behind  many  of  its  more  pretentious  neighbors.  Jt  was 
not  ornamented  with  brownstone  or  marble  columns  and 
cornices;  the  windows  were  small  and  not  overclean,  and 
many  years  had  evidently  elapsed  since  the  carpenter,  the 
mason,  or  the  painter  had  given  it  any  touches  of  their 
respective  arts.  Doubtless  at  one  time  it  had  been  fully  as 
presentable  as  any  other  house  in  the  row ;  but  it  had  year 
after  year  been  losing  caste,  until  now  it  was  regarded  as  an 
eyesore  by  most  of  the  passers-by.  Many  a  sharp  and  cal- 
culating glance  was  cast  at  this  old  house  by  eager  specu- 
lators, who  wondered  why  it  was  allowed  to  occupy  such 
valuable  ground — ground  which  could  be  advantageously 
used  for  far  more  active  business  operations  than,  appeared 
to  be  transacted  within  the  walls  of  the  structure  by  which 
it  was  encumbered. 

As  has  been  said,  the  windows  were  not  overclean.  In 
honest  truth,  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  were  positively 
dirty.  The  panes  were  small  and  the  sash  was  heavy  and 
clumsy.  The  distorted  images  which  reached  the  eye 
through  the  twisted  glass  of  which  the  windows  were  com- 
posed appeared  to  possess  no  attractive  features  for  the 
great  mass  of  pedestrians,  and  consequently  no  crowds  were 

2  (5) 


6  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

collected,  snch  as  blocked  up  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  many 
of  the  neighboring  shops,  where  curious  works  of  art  or 
utility  were  displayed  in  profusion. 

And  yet  at  times  it  was  very  manifest  that  the  windows 
of  the  old  building  we  have  referred  to  were  not  altogether 
devoid  of  interest,  for  occasionally  persons  of  more  than 
ordinarily  thoughtful  mien  would  stop,  scrutinize  them  very 
closely,  and  finally  either  enter  the  door  or  else  pass  on  with 
a  sigh  of  regret.  In  addition  to  the  other  obstacles  to  dis- 
tinct vision,  the  panes  were  so  mottled  with  rain  and  dust 
that  it  required  good  eyes  to  perceive  the  articles  they  almost 
concealed  rather  than  allowed  to  be  seen.  Still,  the  earnest 
and  loving  and  appreciative  seeker  for  knowledge  by  dint 
of  patient  observation  could  discover  objects  more  precious 
in  his  eyes  than  the  bronzes,  Sevres  china,  or  manifold  house- 
furnishing  articles  so  conspicuously  exhibited  behind  plate- 
glass  in  the  palace-like  shops  of  the  vicinity. 

There  was  no  sign  gorgeous  with  paint  and  gilding  such 
as  can  be  read  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  In  fact,  it  re- 
quired a  not  inconsiderable  amount  of  perseverance  to  find 
out  What  kind  of  wares  the  old  house  contained,  so  unob- 
trusive and  modest  is  true  worth.  But,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
contents  of  the  windows,  the  solution  could  be  obtained  by 
persistence  in  the  attempt,  for  on  one  of  the  brick  columns 
which  supported  the  doorway  was  painted  on  a  ground 
which  had  once  been  white,  and  in  a  text  which  not  one 
half  of  the  passers-by  could  read  : 


Oofjn 
Dfb  35oofes  —  Dlttre  $oofis  —  (Curious  35oofis. 

Within,  to  the  indifferent  observer,  the  aspect  was  still 
more  discouraging  than  that  of  the  exterior.  A  long,  nar- 
row room,  dark  and  dismal  looking,  contained  thousands  of 
still  more  dark  and  dismal-looking  books  ranged  around 
the  walls  on  common  deal  unglazed  shelves,  and  piled 
on  tables  of  similar  material  placed  in  the  middle  of  the 
gloomy  area.  There  were  no  luxurious  morocco,  calf,  or 
Russia  bindings  glittering  with  resplendent  tool-  work;  no 
gaudy  sheep  and  cloth  covers  enveloping  the  ephemeral 
literature  which  comes  to-day  and  to-morrow  is  forgotten  ; 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  7 

but  there  were  parchment  and  vellum  and  black  musty  calf 
and  worm-eaten  wood,  within  which  were  to  be  found  treas- 
ures which  made  the  heart  of  the  poor  bibliomaniac  beat 
with  an  envious  throb,  and  even  caused  the  wan,  pale  face 
of  the  mentally  exhausted  student,  to  light  up  with  renewed 
excitement. 

If  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  the  most  supreme  indifference 
to  all  concerned  in  the  establishment  whether  any  sales  were 
made  or  not.  No  anxious  clerk  rushed  forward  with  bows 
and  smiles  to  greet  the  customer  ere  the  tip  of  his  nose  had 
fairly  passed  the  threshold.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  per- 
mitted to  thread  his  way  among  the  tables  to  the  back  of  the 
room,  perhaps  passing  on  his  route  several  individuals,  who, 
unattended  and  unwatched,  were  standing  in  front  of  the 
shelves,  gleaning  a  little  from  this  and  a  little  from  that 
volume,  or  else  in  unrestrained  bibliophilogical  liberty, 
walking  along  the  ranges  of  shelves,  seeking  by  themselves 
for  what  they  might  require. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  room  was  a  high  desk  and  a  high 
Btool,  upon  which  latter  would  probably  be  found  seated  a 
tall  and  thin  gentlemanly-looking  and  elderly  personage, 
wearing  a  broad-brimmed  hat  and  gold  spectacles,  whose 
whole  demeanor  was  remarkably  quiet  and  reserved,  and 
who,  unless  he  was  addressed  directly,  never  took  his  eyes 
from  the  book  he  was  studiously  perusing,  but  left  the  in- 
truder with  full  license  to  follow  the  examples  of  those  he 
had  passed  on  his  way.  If  asked  whether  or  not  the  book 
wanted  was  on  hand,  he  would  either  answer  shortly  but 
politely  in  the  negative  and  resume  his  scarcely  inter- 
rupted study,  or  else  would  descend  from  his  elevation,  and 
going  straight  te  the  spot  where  it  stood,  would  hand  it 
with  undoubted  but  half  suppressed  reluctance,  as  if  dread- 
ing the  prospect  of  its  passing  beyond  his  control. 

The  reader  will  make  a  mistake  if  he  supposes  we  have 
been  describing  Mr.  John  Holmes.  Very  few  of  the  visitors 
to  the  old  book-shop  got  beyond  the  high  stool  and  its  oc- 
cupant, Miles  Standish  Goodall,  Mr.  John  Holraes's  part- 
ner, and  friend  of  forty  years'  standing.  There  was  an  inner 
temple,  beyond  the  precincts,of  which  the  head  of  the  estab- 
lishment seldom  emerged,  except  when  he  left  it  to  go  to 
his  residence,  which  he  did  every  day  at  five  o'clock  with 


8  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

sidereal  punctuality.  Into  this ,  sanctum  sanctorum  or 
"den,"  as  Mr.  Holmes  preferred  to  call  it,  casual  buyers 
were  not  admitted.  None  but  the  regular  frequenters  of 
the  establishment,  who,  from  long  acquaintance,  had  be- 
come recognized  as  true  bibliophiles,  were  allowed  to  enter 
its  limits,  and  thus  to  the  great  majority  of  those  who  were 
courageous  or  earnest  enough  to  visit  Mr.  John  Holmes's 
book-shop,  his  existence  was  not  only  unknown,  but  was 
even  unsuspected. 

The  whole  appearance  of  the  "den  "  was  much  more  genial 
than  that  of  the  outside  room.  Not  only  was  the  light  bet- 
ter, but  there  was  a  warm  and  comfortable  carpet  on  the 
floor,  and,  in  winter,  a  grate  full  of  blazing  cannel  coal  gave 
additional  cheerfulness  to  the  scene.  Instead  of  the  plain 
pine  shelves  of  the  shop,  the  walls  were  lined  with  handsome 
walnut  book-cases,  filled  with  elegantly  but  not  gaudily 
bound  volumes.  There  was  a  sofa,  covered  with  green 
leather,  half  a  dozen  arm-chairs  to  match,  and  a  large  green 
cloth-covered  table,  at  which,  with  several  books  and  numerous 
half  sheets  of  paper  covered  with  writing  before  him,  on  the 
afternoon  of  December  31st,  1858,  sat  Mr.  John  Holmes, 
bookseller,  looking  as  intensely  comfortable  as  a  good  con- 
science and  a  fair  share  of  this  world's  goods  and  learning 
could  make  him. 

Mr.  Holmes,  although  very  comfortable,  was  evidently 
very  busy.  At  times  he  would  write  hurriedly  several  lines 
on  one  of  the  half  sheets  of  paper,  and  then  stopping,  would 
lay  down  his  pen  and  look  meditatively  at  a  portrait  of 
Scaliger,  which  hung  on  the  wall  before  him.  There  was 
nothing  in  this  picture  which  could,  by  any  direct  associa- 
tion, aid  him  in  the  subject  of  his  present  reflection.  It  was 
simply  a  way  of  his  whenever  he  was  in  deep  thought  to  fix 
his  eyes  abstractedly  in  that  direction.  As  he  does  so 
now,  we  may  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  inspect 
his  appearance  more  closely. 

Though  fully  sixty-five  years  old,  Mr.  John  Holmes  would 
have  passed  for  at  least  ten  years  younger.  There  was  but 
little  hair  left  to  form  an  opinion  from,  and  what  he  had  was 
as  white  as  snow,  for  John  Holmes  disdained  a  wig  as  well 
as  all  other  shams.  His  face  was,  however,  full,  and  com- 
paratively free  from  wrinkles,  and  his  complexion  was  as 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  9 

blooming  as  that  of  many  a  maiden  of  one-fourth  his  age. 
His  large  blue  eyes,  wide  apart  and  not  very  deeply  set,  were 
overhung  by  a  brow  which  could  only  have  belonged  to  a 
person  of  no  common  mind.  His  head  was  ample  in  size, 
without  being  what  is  called  massive,  and  was  firmly  set 
upon  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders,  which  had  as  yet  scarcely 
begun  to  droop.  His  nose  and  mouth  were  both  large,  and 
the  lines  of  the  latter,  though  strongly  drawn,  were  expres- 
sive of  as  much  good  nature  and  kind  feeling  as  of  firmness 
and  decision.  As  he  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  Mr.  John  Holmes 
would  have  been  taken  for  a  man  of  more  than  the  average 
height ;  had  he  stood  upon  his  feet,  however,  it  would  have 
been  seen  that  though  his  body  was  long  his  legs  were  short, 
and  thus  he  was  rather  below  than  above  the  medium  stand- 
ard. For  all  that,  his  appearance  was  decidedly  imposing  and 
eminently  respectable.  His  hands  and  feet  were  remarkably 
small,  and  the  former  were  graced  with  wristbands  of  unim- 
peachable whiteness,  while  the  latter  were  set  off  by  well- 
fitting  and  well-polished  boots.  If  there  were  any  parts  of 
his  person  that  Mr.  Holmes  was  especially  vain  of,  those 
parts  were  his  hands  and  feet. 

A  skillful  analyzer  of  expression  observing  John  Holmes, 
as  he  sat  and  gazed  absently  at  the  portrait  of  Scaliger, 
would  have  detected  a  latent  gleam  of  sadness  on  his  coun- 
tenance. It  was  not  thrust  prominently  forward,  for  he  felt 
that  he  had  too  much  to  be  thankful  for,  to  let  the  marks  of 
any  trouble  obtain  a  firm  seat  on  his  features.  But  though 
at  ease  all  the  year  through,  on  this  the  last  of  its  days,  the 
traces  of  a  long  passed  and  sorrowful  event  which  lingered 
in  his  heart,  forced  themselves  to  the  surface  and  gave  a 
tone  of  subdued  seriousness  to  an  expression  which  usually 
was  one  of  unalloyed  happiness. 

He  sat  in  quiet  meditation  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then, 
looking  at  his  watch,  rose  from  his  seat,  took  off  the  short 
black  velvet  coat  which  he  habitually  wore  m  his  den,  and 
putting  on  one  of  thick  cloth,  together  with  a  stout  over- 
coat, a  black  beaver  hat,  and  a  pair  of  woolen  gloves,  was 
fully  accoutered  for  the  street.  By  the  time  he  had  com- 
pleted his  preparations,  the  sun  was  just  about  sinking  be- 
hind the  hills  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Hudson,  and  on 
looking  at  his  watch  he  found  he  had  yet  nine  minutes  to 

2* 


10  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

spare.  He  had  ascertained  by  long  experience  that  in 
good  weather  it  took  him  precisely  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
to  walk  from  his  shop  to  his  house.  His  dinner  was  always 
served  at  precisely  six  o'clock,  and  thus  he  was  allowed  full 
time  to  reach  his  residence  and  get  ready  for  his  repast. 

As  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire  smoothing  his  ample 
gloves  over  his  small  hands,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Upon  Mr.  Holmes  saying  "  come  in,"  Goodall  entered  the 
room  and  assumed  a  position  in  relation  to  the  fire  similar 
to  that  of  his  senior. 

"I  suppose,  sir,"  he  said,  "the  shop  will  not  be  opened 
to-morrow,  as  it's  New-year's  Day?" 

"No,  G-oodall;" said  John  Holmes,  "and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  have  you  take  your  dinner  with  us.  This  is  not  only  my 
invitation,  but  Margaret's  also.  If  you  were  a  younger  man, 
Goodall,"  he  continued,  smiling,  "I  should  be  half  disposed 
to  think  you  had  got  possession  of  her  heart.  Do  you  know, 
she  told  me  last  night — me,  John  Holmes,  her  grandfather, 
and  a  man  who  has  lived  all  his  life  in  an  atmosphere  of  books 
— that  she  believed  you  had  more  solid  information  in  your 
head  than  any  other  man  in  New  York  ?  So  far  as  I  can 
see,  the  only  ground  she  had  for  that  reckless  assertion  was 
the  fact  that  you  alone  were  able  to  give  her  the  history  of 
old  Mother  Piggot,  who  some  two  hundred  or  more  years 
ago  was  burned  as  a  witch." 

"I  was  very  glad,"  replied  Goodall,  seriously,  but  evi- 
dently pleased  with  what  John  Holmes  had  said,  "to  be 
able  to  tell  Miss  Margaret  all  I  knew  about  Mary  Piggot. 
My  reading  has  been  a  great  deal  in  the  direction  of  super- 
stitions of  all  kinds,  and  therefore  Miss  Margaret  has  taken 
too  favorable  a  view  of  my  acquirements.  Now,  sir,  though 
perhaps  I  know  more  about  witches  than  you  do,  I  am  cer- 
tain that  I  do  not  possess  a  tenth  part  of  your " 

"  Stop,  stop,  Goodall !"  exclaimed  John  Holmes,  laugh- 
ingly, "you  know  no  such  thing,  and  on  the  last  day  of  the 
year  too,  when  you  ought  to  be  forming  resolutions  to  lead 
a  new  life,  you  should  be  ashamed  of  yourself  for  making 
such  speeches.  But  come,  I  must  be  off.  You  shall  tell 
me  all  about  Mary  Piggot  to-morrow  at  dinner;  and  in  the 
mean  time  I  wish  you  a  happy  New  Year  and  a  great  many 
more  ofthem.  Ah,  my  old  friend,"  continued  John  Holmes, 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  11 

taking  Goodall's  hand  and  pressing  it  warmly,  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve you  know,  with  all  your  knowledge,  how  much  I  love 
you  !  How  many  years,  Goodall,  have  we  been  together  in 
this  old  shop  ?" 

"Forty  years  the  tenth  day  of  last  November,"  replied 
Goodall,  his  eyes  glistening  with  moisture.  "  Forty  years, 
and  in  all  that  time  you  have  never  spoken  a  cross  word  t_o 
me,  nor  done  me  an  unkind  act.  Yon  have  enabled  me  to 
live  in  comfort,  have  given  me  opportunities  for  acquiring 
knowledge,  and  have  in  every  way  been  my  friend." 

"Well,  well,  Goodall,"  said  John  Holmes,  his  own  eyes 
beginning  to  show  evidences  of  the  state  of  his  feelings, 
"you  have  more  than  repaid  me  for  any  little  friendly  of- 
fices I  may  have  done  you.  Why,  what  would  the  shop 
have  been  without  you?  You  have  been  the  life  and  soul 
of  it.  You  have  as  much  knowledge  of  books  in  your  head 
as  Brunet,  Wood,  Lowndes,  and  Dibdin  have  in  all  their 
combined  volumes.  Perhaps  that  is  rather  too  strong  lan- 
guage, Goodall,  but  you  know  what  I  mean.  God  bless 
you,  old  friend, — God  bless  you!  To-morrow  we'll  have  a 
good  time  of  it.  Till  then,  good-by  I" 

So  saying,  John  Holmes  shook  Goodall's  hand  again, 
and,  buttoning  up  his  overcoat  to  the  chin,  walked  out  into 
the  shop  and  began  his  journey  through  the  devious  passage 
between  the  tables  of  books.  He  had  not  gone  far,  when 
he  turned  around  and  addressing  Goodall,  who  had  followed 
him  as  far  as  the  high  stool  on  which  he  was  already  perched, 
exclaimed : 

"By-the-by,  Goodall,  do  you  know  anything  of  an  alchem- 
ical work  written  by  one  Kieser  some  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  ?  I  met  with  a  reference  to  it  to-day,  but  I  do 
not  recollect  to  have  heard  of  it  before." 

"Kieser!  Kieser!"  said  Goodall,  musingly.  "Oh,  yes,  I 
recollect  now ;  he  wrote  three  tracts,  which  were  bound  to- 
gether and  published  at  Frankfort  in  1606.  They  were 
entitled  Cabala  Chemica,  Concordantia  Chemica,  and — 
really,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause, ^  I  cannot  just  now  re- 
call the  name  of  the  third.  The  volume  is  very  rare.  There 
is  a  copy  in  the  Bibliotheque  Imperiale,  and  another  in  the 
library  of  the  Archbishop  of  Vienna." 

"Please  write  at  once  to  my  agent  at  Leipsic,  and  direct 


12  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

him  to  get  me  a  copy,"  said  John  Holmes;  "I  must  have  it 
at  any  price  in  reason."  With  which  words  he  opened  the 
front  door,  and  passing  out  into  the  street  was  soon  lost  in 
the  crowd,  which  at  that  hour  was  always  unusually  great. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHICH    IS    RETROSPECTIVE    OF    GOODALL. 

FOR  several  minutes  after  John  Holmes  left  the  shop, 
Goodall  remained  seated  on  his  stool  deep  in  the  reflections 
which  crowded  upon  his  mind.  He  thought  how,  some  forty 
years  ago,  he  had  been  literally  picked  up  out  of  the  street 
by  the  man  who  had  ever  since  been  his  firm  and  constant 
friend.  How,  little  by  little,  painfully  and  with  incessant 
labor,  he  had  been  able  to  acquire  such  an  amount  of  knowl- 
edge as  rendered  his  services  valuable  to  his  benefactor,  and 
he  felt  no  small  degree  of  pride  that  he  had  been  successful 
in  his  efforts.  He  was  proud,  too,  that  he  had  been  able  to 
lift  himself  from  ignorance  and  low  associations  to  a  posi- 
tion of  education  and  to  the  society  of  many  refined  and  in- 
telligent persons.  At  fifteen  years  of  age,  having  been  left 
an  orphan,  he  had  come  to  New  York  to  seek  his  fortune. 
The  small  sura  of  money  he  had  brought  with  him  soon 
became  exhausted,  and  he  had  as  yet  found  no  settled  occu- 
pation. There  was  very  little  besides  mere  manual  labor 
that  he  was  fit  for.  His  education  had  not  been  carried 
beyond  the  very  rudiments  of  the  branches  then  taught  in 
the  public  schools,  and  when  in  the  course  of  his  applica- 
tions at  counting-houses  for  a  situation,  his  acquirements 
were  examined  into,  he  was  invariably  dismissed  with  an 
intimation  that  his  services  were  not  required.  He  was 
h'onest  and  correct  in  his  deportment,  but  he  soon  made  the 
painful  discovery  that  virtue,  unaccompanied  by  business 
qualifications,  meets  with  little  consideration  from  the  great 
mass  of  the  population  of  a  commercial  and  manufacturing 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  13 

city.  To  be  sure,  he  was  a  mere  boy,  and  an  ignorant  one 
in  addition,  but  he  was  possessed  of  good  natural  abilities 
and  excellent  perceptive  faculties.  He  saw,  therefore,  that 
he  must  take  his  proper  level,  low  though  it  might  be,  and 
trust  to  his  own  exertions  to  rise  to  a  better  position.  He 
accordingly,  when  reduced  to  the  last  extremity,  became  an 
assistant  to  the  bar-keeper  of  a  restaurant. 

In  this  situation  there  was  very  little  time  allowed  him 
for  study,  but  he  made  good  use  of  every  leisure  moment. 
All  the  money  he  was  enabled  to  save  from  his  small  wages 
was  spent  at  a  neighboring  book-stall,  and  thus  at  the  end 
of  a  year  he  had  obtained  possession  of  a  score  or  so  of 
elementary  volumes  on  various  branches  of  knowledge,  the 
contents  of  which,  by  repeated  perusal,  he  had  almost  learned 
by  heart. 

No  doubt  Miles  Standish  Goodall  would  in  time  have 
emerged  from  obscurity  by  his  own  unaided  exertions.  He 
was  strong  of  heart  like  his  illustrious  namesake,  and  Prov- 
idence always  takes  such  persons  under  special  protection ; 
but  he  was  materially  assisted  by  an  event  which  occurred 
about  this  time,  and  which  determined  the  direction  which 
his  course  through  life  was  to  take. 

One  morning,  having  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
ought  to  study  Latin,  he  obtained  holiday  for  an  hour,  and 
with  a  dollar  in  his  pocket  started  out  in  search  of  a  Latin 
grammar  and  dictionary.  None  within  his  means  were  to 
be  found  at  the  book-stalls  he  was  acquainted  with;  but, 
persevering  in  his  search,  he  came  at  last  to  John  Holmes's 
shop,  which  had  been  opened  that  day  for  the  first  time. 
Holmes  had  not  long  before  returned  from  England  and  the 
Continent,  bringing  with  him  a  rare  and  valuable  collection 
of  old  books,  which  he  had  spent  much  time  and  money  in 
getting  together.  Goodall  was  the  first  customer  who  had 
entered  his  shop ;  and  as  John  Holmes,  then  a  young  man 
of  twenty-five,  who  had  been  blest  with  all  the  advantages 
of  a  university  education,  and  had,  moreover,  a  snug  little 
property  of  his  own,  looked  at  the  thin  pale-faced  and  poorly- 
clad  boy  who  inquired  if  he  had  a  cheap  Latin  dictionary 
and  grammar  for  sale,  he  divined  that  a  noble  spirit  dwelt 
in  that  overworked  body,  and  he  instantly  determined  to 
render  all  the  aid  in  his  power  toward  its  elevation. 


14  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"Yes,  ray  lad,"  he  answered,  "I  have.  So  very  cheap 
that  you  shall  have  them  for  nothing  if  you  will  promise  to 
make  good  use  of  them." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir  !"  replied  Goodall,  "but  I  am  able  to 
give  a  dollar  for  them." 

"  Do  you  read  Latin  ?" 

"No,  sir;  but  I  want  to  learn  it." 

"  What  is  your  name,  and  what  do  you  do  for  a  living?" 

"My  name  is  Miles  Standish  Goodall,  sir,  and  I  am  the 
assistant  bar-keeper  at  Mr.  Rider's  eating-house." 

"Are  you  very  anxious  to  learn  Latin  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  very  anxious  !" 

"  Then,  Miles,  listen  to  me.  You  look  like  a  good  boy, 
and  I  think  you  have  something  in  you.  As  you  see,  I 
have  a  great  many  books  here,  and  I  want  some  one  to 
help  me  to  take  care  of  them.  Now  what  do  you  say  to 
becoming  my  clerk,  having  the  free  range  of  the  books, 
being  taught  Latin,  and  paid  a  fair  compensation,  which 
shall  be  increased  as  you  become  more  proficient  in  your 
duties  ?" 

Goodall  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears,  but  at  last  found 
words  with  which  to  express  his  thanks.  But  a  difficulty 
occurred  to  him  : 

"  What  would  Mr.  Rider  do  for  a  boy,  sir,  if  I  were  to 
leave  him  ?  he  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"That  is  a  very  creditable  thought  of  yours,  Miles;  but 
don't  let  it  trouble  you.  I  will  go  at  once  and  see  Mr.  Ri- 
der, and,  if  necessary,  get  him  another  boy." 

The  next  morning,  everything  in  the  mean  time  having 
been  satisfactorily  adjusted,  Goodall  became  a  part  of  John 
Holmes's  book  establishment.  The  latter  soon  saw  that  he 
had  not  made  a  mistake  in  his  estimation  of  the  boy's  char- 
acter. Ere  many  years,  Goodall,  with  his  employer's  assist- 
ance, not  only  became  a  good  Latin  scholar,  but  had  mas- 
tered Greek,  several  modern  languages,  and  had  acquired  a 
most  profound  knowledge  of  books  and  literature  in  general. 
At  the  end  of  ten  years,  John  Holmes  admitted  him  to  a 
third  interest,  and  after  five  more  years  increased  this  to  a 
full  partnership.  Such  was  the  condition  of  their  relations 
when  our  story  begins,  although  the  style  of  the  firm  had 
not  been  changed  by  Goodall's  entrance  into  it.  His  thor- 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  15 

ough  scholarship  was  well  known  and  appreciated,  and  sev- 
eral offices  of  honor  and  profit  bad  been  offered  him.  No- 
thing, however,  could  tempt  him  to  leave  the  shop.  He  was 
nowhere  so  happy  as  when  in  the  midst  of  those  "  masters 
who  teach  without  scolding  and  chastise  without  stripes." 
His  only  ambition  was  to  acquire  knowledge,  and  to  show 
his  appreciation  of  John  Holmes's  friendship.  In  these  ob- 
jects, as  has  been  seen,  he  was  eminently  successful,  and  if 
there  could  have  been  a  thoroughly  happy  man  in  the  world, 
that  man,  but  for  one  thing,  would  have  been  Miles  Stand- 
ish  Goodall.  <• 

The  events  of  his  past  life  fled  by  in  rapid  succession  be- 
fore him,  as  he  sat  on  his  stool,  his  elbows  on  the  desk  and 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  For  forty  years  there  had  not 
been  many  very  striking  incidents  to  disturb  the  methodical 
existence  he  had  led,  but  the  same  cause  which  on  the  last 
day  of  every  year  made  John  Holmes  sad,  never  failed  with 
each  returning  anniversary  to  excite  a  pang  of  sorrow  in  his 
own  honest  and  truthful  heart. 

"  Oh,  Margaret !  Margaret !"  he  exclaimed,  scarcely  above 
his  breath,  "  it  might  have  been  different  if  you  had  loved  me. 
Seventeen  years  ago  to-night,  Margaret,  since  your  pure 
spirit  fled  to  another  world.  Seventeen  years  since  I  pressed 
your  little  hand,  and  read  in  the  last  look  of  your  eyes  that 
at  length  you  knew  I  loved  you.  No  one  else  knew  it ;  no 
one  knows  it  now  but  you  and  I,  Margaret;  and  if  you  had 
loved  me,  if  in  that  glance  there  had  been  one  ray  of  love, 
I  should  not  despair.  There  was  pity,  Margaret,  but  there 
was  no  love.  You  belonged  to  another,  and  you  were  faith- 
ful to  the  end,  though  he  did  not  deserve  it  of  you. 

"  He  did  not  deserve  it  of  you,  Margaret,  but  it  was  his 
legal  due.  You  were  lost  to  me  when  you  vowed  to  love 
him  while  life  should  last.  You  kept  that  promise;  but  in 
that  other  world  where  you  now  are,  and  whither  I  must 
soon  go,  is  it  to  be  the  same  ?  Are  you  to  be  forever  his, 
and  is  there 'no  hope  for  me  ?  Can  I  do  nothing,  Margaret, 
to  win  the  love  which  in  your  lifetime  was  denied  me  ? 

"  She  is  wondrously  like  you,  Margaret,  though  she  is 
his  child,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause  of  several  minutes. 
"  Your  eyes,  your  hair,  your  mouth.  When  she  speaks  to 
me,  her  voice  brings  back  your  gentle  tones ;  ^and  then, 


16  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

Margaret,  I  lose  myself  in  the  fancy  that  I  am  once  again 
in  your  presence.  Dear,  sweet  child  I  is  she  not  dear  to  me 
because  she  is  yours  ?" 

"  Is  it  time  to  close,  sir  ?"  said  a  stout,  good-looking  man, 
who,  unobserved  by  Goodall,  had  approached  within  a  few 
feet  of  him. 

"  Yes,  Thomas,  close  the  shop,  and  tell  Jane  I  shall  be 
ready  for  dinner  in  ten  minutes."  So  saying,  Goodall  pro- 
ceeded up  stairs  to  his  apartments.  But  before  going  to 
dinner,  he  opened  a  little  cabinet,  which  stood  on  his  dress- 
ing-t&ble,  and  took  from  it  a  small  morocco  case,  which  he 
unclasped.  It  contained  one  little  glove,  which  he  raised 
reverently  to  his  lips,  and  then  carefully  replacing  it  in  the 
casket,  sat  down  to  his  solitary  meal. 

"  I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  Mr.  Goodall  ?"  said 
Thomas  the  porter  to  his  wife  Jane  that  evening.  "  I 
hope  he  has  not  lost  any  money  by  that  bank  which  stopped 
payment  yesterday.  I  passed  by  there  this  morning,  and 
there  was  a  great  crowd  waiting  to  see  if  it  was  going  to  be 
opened  again." 

"I  guess  that's  it,"  rejoined  Jane;  "he  did  not  eat  any 
dinner  but  a  little  soup  and  a  piece  of  bread,  though  he 
likes  stewed  chicken,  and  I  had  taken  so  much  trouble  with 
it  to-day,  too  1  But  when  men  lose  money,  they  lose  their 
senses,  too,  which  is  very  misfortunate,  because  they  com- 
monly hasn't  got  much  to  spare, — I  mean  money,  though  I 
might  have  said  sense  neither,  for  all  that." 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHICH  INTRODUCES  THE  READER  TO  THE  CHIEF  HEROINE,  AND 
SHOWS  WHY  JOHN  HOLMES  AND  GOODALL  WERE  UNHAPPY  ON  THE 
LAST  DAY  OF  THE  YEAR. 

JOHN  HOLMES,  as  was  his  habit,  walked  rapidly  through 
the  streets  toward  his  residence,  situated  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  city,  in  a  quiet  but  very  respectable  neighborhood. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  17 

It  was  just  such  a  home  as  a  wealthy,  sensible,  refined,  bat 
not  fashionable  man  might  have  been  expected  to  make  for 
himself.  Nothing  that  could  conduce  to  the  comfort  of  the 
occupants,  whether  as  regarded  the  gratification  of  correct 
taste  or  ministration  to  the  merely  physical  requirements  of 
life,  was  wanting,  which  his  means  allowed  him  to  obtain.  It 
was  a  plain  brick  building,  not  overlarge,  but  yet  of  ample 
size,  with  ground  enough  belonging  to  it  to  afford  its  owner 
sufficient  opportunity  to  indulge  his  horticultural  inclina- 
tions to  a  reasonable  extent.  .Within,  everything  was  com- 
fortably and  tastefully  arranged.  There  was  a  good-sized 
parlor,  a  large  library,  well  stored  with  literary  treasures,  a 
nice  little  suite  of  apartments  for  his  granddaughter,  upon 
which  he  had  been  profuse  in  his  expenditure  of  money,  and 
a  more  sedate  but  grander  set  of  rooms  connected  with  the 
library,  which  were  especially  his  own. 

Besides  himself  and  granddaughter,  there  was  the  house- 
keeper, the  cook,  the  chambermaid,  a  gardener,  a  coachman, 
and  a  man  who  was  half  servant  and  half  companion,  whose 
particular  duty  it  was  to  attend  to  a  somewhat  mysterious 
room,  in  which  John  Holmes  spent  a  great  portion  of  the 
night,  and  to  which  the  reader  will  be  introduced  in  proper 
season. 

As  John  Holmes  was  arranging  his  toilet  preparatory  to 
dinner,  he  could  not  avoid  thinking  of  the  twofold  character 
of  the  emotions  which  this  day  was  calculated  to  awaken  in 
his"  heart.  Seventeen  years  ago  his  daughter  died  in  giving 
birth  to  the  one  who  now  filled  her  place,  and  who  was  the 
light  and  life  of  his  existence.  Margaret  Leslie  had  thus 
grown  up  under  his  own  immediate  care,  nurtured  by  her 
grandfather  as  tenderly  as  though  she  had  been  his  own 
child.  Her  mother's  sad  history  and  her  father's  misdeeds 
had  never  been  narrated  to  her,  but  John  Holmes  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  no  right  to  keep  her  longer  in 
ignorance,  and  had  resolved,  now  that  she  had  finished  her 
seventeenth  year,  to  make  her  fully  acquainted  with  all  the 
events  which  so  intimately  concerned  her.  It  was  a  task 
which  he  knew  would  give  him  great  pain,  and  which  could 
not  fail  to  cause  distress  to  one  who  was  very  dear  to  him; 
but  he  was  not  the  man  to  shrink  from  a  clearly-defined 
duty  because  of  any  trouble  it  might  cause  him,  nor  even 

3 


18  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

to  spare  his  dear  Margaret  when  a  matter  of  right  was  in 
question. 

As  he  crossed  the  hall  which  separated  the  library  from 
the  dining-room,  he  heard  a  soft  step  in  the  passage  above, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  Margaret  Leslie,  his  dear  grand- 
daughter, was  at  his  side. 

"So  you  are  seventeen  to-day,  my  darling,"  he  said,  put- 
ting his  arm  around  her  waist  and  drawing  her  into  the 
room.  "  Come  to  the  light  and  let  me  see  how  beautiful 
you  are." 

Margaret  blushed,  and,  smiling,  allowed  him  to  lead  her 
to  the  window. 

"Yes,  grandpapa,  seventeen.  Don't  you  think  I  am  tall 
for  my  age  ?" 

He  stood  before  her  with  her  little  hands  in  his,  and 
looked  lovingly  into  her  face.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  and 
intellectual  and  truthful  face.  There  were  masses  of  golden 
hair,  a  pair  of  soft,  large  violet  eyes,  a  delicately  chiseled, 
but  not  a  meager  mouth,  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  and  a 
complexion  which,  while  it  rivaled  them  in  brilliancy,  al- 
lowed the  color  of  the  rich  blood  to  be  seen  as  when  in  sym- 
pathy with  her  emotions  it  came  in  greater  profusion  to  her 
dimpled  cheeks.  She  was  tall  for  her  age,  but  her  full, 
round  bust  and  unconstricted  waist  showed  that  develop- 
ment in  that  direction  had  not  taken  place  "at  the  expense 
of  her  vitality.  There  was  a  natural  refinement  of  manner 
about  her  too,  which  was  very  different  from  the  studied 
and  artificial  elegance  which  so  many  affect,  and  which, 
though  perhaps  more  imposing  to  the  superficial  observer, 
is  infinitely  less  charming  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  know  the 
false  from  the  true.  Her  dress  of  simple,  tasteful,  but  not 
common  material,  set  off  her  graceful  form  to  advantage, 
and  altogether  no  one  could  deny  that  Margaret  Leslie  was 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  daughters  of  men. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  beauty  in  her  counte- 
nance. There  was  an  expression  of  frankness,  of  trustfulness, 
and  depth  of  feeling  which  cannot  be  described  in  words. 
Everybody  saw  it,  but  few  were  capable  of  analyzing  and 
appreciating  it  in  all  its  immensity  of  truth  and  faith  and 
love. 

As  John  Holmes  looked  at  her  long  and  affectionately,  he 


EGBERT   SEVERNE.  19 

saw  that  there  was  nothing  in  her  face  that  did  not  express 
purity  and  goodness.  He  pressed  his  lips  to  her  fair  brow. 

"God  forever  bless  you,  my  darling,"  he  said;  "you  are 
very  beautiful,  and  you  are  as  good  as  you  are  beautiful. 
You  are  so  much  like  your  dear  mother,  that  I  can  almost 
believe  that  these  are  her  hands  I  am  holding.  But  you  are 
taller  than  she  was,  and  your  hair  is  a  shade  or  two  lighter, 
and  I  think  that  perhaps  yon  have  more  strength  of  char- 
acter than  she  had.  But  she  was  very  good,  Margaret." 

Never  before  had  her  grandfather  talked  to  her  so  freely 
of  her  mother,  and  Margaret,  seeing  that  he  always  avoided 
the  subject,  had  never  persisted  in  inquiries  which  evidently 
pained  him  to  consider.  She  knew  that  in  good  time  she 
would  be  fully  enlightened,  and  she  saw  with  her  quick  per- 
ception that  the  time  had  come. 

"You  are  going  to  tell  me  all  about  my  mother?" 

"Yes,  darling,  after  dinner  we  will  go  to  the  library  and 
you  shall  then  know  all.  It  is  a  sorrowful  story,  Margaret, 
but  not  one  to  make  you  blush  with  shame  for  any  crime  of 
hers.  You  will  love  her  more  dearly,  my  child,  and  you 
will  learn  one  more  lesson  which  cannot  fail  to  be  of  service 
to  you  in  the  life  upon  which  yon  are  now  entering." 

With  this  prelude,  it  was  impossible  that  the  dinner  could 
be  a  very  joyous  feast  to  either  John  Holmes  or  Margaret. 
Both  their  hearts  were  full.  The  meal  was  therefore  fin- 
ished in  almost  complete  silence,  and  the  dishes  upon  which 
Mrs.  Markland  the  housekeeper,  and  Susan  the  cook,  had 
expended  their  combined  culinary  efforts  were  scarcely 
tasted.  Even  the  old  Madeira,  of  which  John  Holmes 
usually  drank  three  or  four  glasses,  remained  untouched. 
Before  the  library  fire,  with  Margaret's  arm  resting  on  his 
shoulder,  John  Holmes  thus  related  the  story  of  her  mother's 
life  and  death. 

JOHN  HOLMES'S  STORY. 

"  I  have  had  but  one  child,  my  darling,  and  that  one  was 
your  mother.     She  was  left  at  an  early  age  to  my  entire 
••      charge,  for  her  mother  died  before  we  had  completed  five 
•*  years  of  our  married  life. 

"  Margaret  was  as  lovely  a  child  as  I  have  ever  seen.  I 
think  I  say  this  without  being  biased  in  my  judgment.  It 


20  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

was  the  opinion  of  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact.  Her 
disposition  was  affectionate,  gentle,  and  confiding.  In  her 
education  I  had  taken  the  utmost  care.  I  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  intrusting  the  development  of  her  mind  to 
strangers,  and  therefore,  with  the  exception  of  her  music  and 
drawing,  which  she  learned  at  home  from  competent  teach- 
ers, I  took  upon  myself,  with  the  assistance  of  my  friend 
Goodall,  this  duty,  which  was  at  the  same  time  the  greatest 
pleasure  of  my  life. 

"And  yet  I  did  not  keep  her  in  seclusion.  I  knew  well 
the  dangers  of  such  a  course.  Margaret's  beauty  and  edu- 
cation, to  say  nothing  of  her  prospective  wealth,  readily 
gained  her  many  friends  among  refined  and  educated  people ; 
but  she  was  not  disposed  to  indulge  to  excess  in  the  frivol- 
ities of  a  fashionable  life.  Her  early  associations  had  not 
been  without  influence  upon  her,  and  she  never  lost  that  love 
for  her  own  home  and  for  me,  which  made  the  gayeties  of  the 
world  more  irksome  to  her  than  pleasing. 

"Among  the  families  with  which  Margaret  was  most  in- 
timate was  one  named  Sedgefield,  consisting  of  a  widow 
lady,  her  son,  and  daughter.  Between  Margaret  and  the 
latter  a  warm  friendship  existed.  They  were  constantly' 
together,  their  dispositions  appeared  to  be  very  similar,  and 
as  Mary  Sedgefield  was  a  good  girl,  I  was  pleased  that  she 
and  my  child  had  become  attached  to  each  other.  Of  course 
the  intimacy  of  these  two  gave  many  opportunities  for 
Mary's  brother,  Matthew,  to  be  thrown  in  Margaret's 
society,  and  as  time  wore  oft,  I  became  aware  of  the  fact 
that  a  stronger  feeling  than  friendship  actuated  him  in  his 
attentions  to  my  child.  Still,  even  this  was  not  displeasing 
to  me.  Matthew  Sedgefield's  previous  history  had  been 
closely  inquired  into  by  me.  I  had  carefully  studied  his 
character,  habits,  and  disposition,  with  all  a  father's  anx- 
iety, and  there  was  nothing  with  which  I  could  find  fault. 
On  the  contrary,  high  as  I  had  placed  Margaret,  I  was 
forced  to  admit  that  he  was  worthy  of  her,  and  therefore, 
had  she  reciprocated  his  affection,  I  should  have  given  her 
to  him  with  the  certainty  that  her  happiness  in  this  world 
was  secured. 

"  But  with  a  father's  watchful  eye,  I  soon  perceived  that 
Margaret's  attachment  to  him  was  no  more  than  such  as  was 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  21 

the  offspring  of  her  friendship  for  his  sister.  For  Matthew 
Sedgefield  personally,  I  doubt  if  she  had  any  very  strong  feel- 
ing, at  least  she  never  gave  me  the  slightest  reason  to  suspect 
such  to  be  the  case,  and  I  often  noticed  her  conduct  under 
circumstances,  when,  if  she  had  loved  him,  she  could  not 
have  avoided  giving  evidence  of  her  emotion.  From  what 
little  I  could  gather  from  her,  she  appeared  to  think  him 
wanting  in  manliness,  but  I  was  very  certain  she  was  mis- 
taken in  this  opinion. 

"One  evening,  as  Margaret  and  myself  were  sitting  in 
this  room,  Matthew  Sedgefield  entered,  accompanied  by  a 
gentleman,  whom  he  introduced  as  his  friend,  Mr.  Leslie. 
He  was  a  very  handsome  young  man,  with  an  easy,  careless 
manner,  and  a  fund  of  conversation,  which  made  him  very 
agreeable.  I  did  not  observe  him  with  much  particularity, 
but  I  was  certainly  pleased  and  amused  with  him,  and  Mar- 
garet also  was  struck  with- his  vivacity,  his  extensive  infor- 
mation, and  the  charming  way  in  which  he  discoursed  upon 
the  most  varied  topics.  There  appeared  to  be  no  book  that 
he  had  not  read,  no  place  he  had  not  visited,  no  celebrated 
living  personage  whom  he  had  not  met,  and  about  whom  he 
could  not  relate  some  amusing  anecdote.  It  may  well  be 
imagined  therefore  that  my  dear  child  was  dazzled  and  be- 
wildered. Mr.  Leslie  was  quite  a  different  person  from 
Matthew  Sedgefield." 

Margaret  Leslie  had  listened  to  her  grandfather's  recital 
without  uttering  a  word.  She  knew  he  was  talking  of  her 
father,  but  she  dreaded  asking  a  question,  for  she  also  per- 
ceived, what  she  had  for  years  intuitively  divined,  that  there 
were  some  painful  circumstances  connected  with  his  career 
that  it  had  been  deemed  proper  to  conceal  from  her.  Her 
grandfather's  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  depth  of  feel- 
ing and  a  bitterness  of  expression  that  left  no  doubt  on  her 
mind ;  still  she  said  nothing.  She  dared  not  trust  herself 
to  speak,  but  she  quietly  stole  one  of  her  hands  to  his  and 
motioned  to  him  with  her  head  to  proceed. 

"Again  and  again  Richard  Leslie  came  to  the  house, 
sometimes  with  Matthew  Sedgefield,  but  often  alone.  From 
all  that  I  had  been  able  to  ascertain  in  regard  to  him,  I 
could  perceive  no  reason  why  he  should  not  visit  my  daugh- 
ter. He  was  gentlemanly,  apparently  of  good  habits,  and, 

3* 


22  ROBERT   8EVERNE. 

as  I  have  said,  well  informed  above  the  generality  of  the 
young  men  met  with  in  society.  Still,  as  I  became  better 
acquainted  with  him,  I  acquired  an  inconceivable  dislike  for 
him.  1  resolved  to  conquer  this  because  I  deemed  it  unjust, 
and  therefore  I  placed  no  restrictions  on  Margaret's  inti- 
macy with  him.  Would  to  God  I  had  heeded  my  mysterious 
monitor ! 

"As  I  have  said,  I  made  due  inquiries  in  regard  to  Rich- 
ard Leslie's  early  life.  From  Matthew  Sedgefield  I  ascer- 
tained that  he  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy  merchant,  residing 
in  Glasgow,  in  which  place  Sedgefield  had  met  him  two  or 
three  years  previously;  that  he  had  been  sent  on  a  matter 
of  business  to  this  country ;  that  he  had  always  borne  a 
high  character  at  home,  and  that  since  his  residence  here 
his  conduct  had  been  unexceptionable.  To  my  great  regret, 
however,  for  I  could  not  overcome  my  repugnance  to  Rich- 
ard Leslie,  I  saw  that  he  was  deeply  interested  in  Mar- 
garet, and  I  feared  also,  from  many  little  signs,  that  she  was 
pleased  with  him.  Finally,  one  morning,  he  requested  a 
few  minutes'  conversation  with  me,  on,  as  he  said,  a  matter 
of  great  importance.  I  knew  what  was  coming,  but  I  re- 
solved to  hear  him  through. 

"  He  told  me  of  his  attachment  to  my  dear  child,  and 
asked  my  formal  consent  to  address  her.  He  said  he  had 
not  mentioned  the  matter  to  Margaret,  for  he  desired  to  lay 
it  before  me  first,  and  would  abide  faithfully  by  my  decision, 
though  he  believed  she  was  not  altogether  indifferent  to  him. 
In  regard  to  his  previous  history,  he  told  me  precisely  what 
I  had  learned  from  Sedgefield,  and  exhibited  several  letters 
to  me  in  support  of  his  assertions;  among  them  was  one 
from  his  father,  addressing  him  as  his  dear  son.  I  was 
pleased  with  what  I  considered  his  frankness  and  honor, 
but  told  him  that  before  giving  him  an  answer,  I  preferred 
to  ascertain  Margaret's  views  from  herself,  and  that  in  no 
event  could  I  consent  to  any  engagement  till  his  father  had 
been  communicated  with  and  his  approval  asked.  He  ex- 
pressed his  entire  acquiescence  in  my  determination,  and  I 
was  so  much  ashamed  of  my  former-feeling  of  dislike  for 
him,  which  I  now  was  convinced  to  be  utterly  without  founda- 
tion, that  I  gave  him  to  understand,  that  if  Margaret  loved 
him,  and  no  reasonable  objections  were  urged  by  his  father, 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  23 

my  full  consent  would  be  granted.  I  will  not  dwell  upon 
this  part  of  my  narrative.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  Margaret, 
in  her  modest  and  quiet  manner,  gave  me  every  reason  to 
know  that  she  returned  his  love,  and  that  in  due  time  I  re- 
ceived, through  Richard,  a  letter  from  his  father,  expressing 
his  cordial  approval  of  his  son's  marriage  with  my  daughter. 
There  was  therefore  no  longer  any  valid  reason  for  with- 
holding my  consent,  and  yet  I  dreaded  giving  my  dear  Mar- 
garet to  Richard  Leslie.  To  add  to  my  uneasiness,  I  saw 
that  Goodall  had  also  conceived  a  dislike  to  him.  As  you 
know,  he  and  I  have  been  friends  for  many  years.  He  is 
one  of  the  most  honest,  truthful,  and  faithful  men  I  have 
ever  known,  and  I  have  always  trusted  very  much  to  his 
judgment  in  all  matters  of  importance.  He  had  been  very 
fond  of  Margaret.  For  several  years  he  had  taken  great 
pains  to  instruct  her  in  many  branches  of  learning,  in  which 
few  in  this  country  possess  anything  like  his  proficiency; 
and  he  had  acquired  a  knowledge  of  Margaret's  character 
and  disposition  fully  as  profound  as  that  which  I  had.  He 
had  also  seen  a  good  deal  of  Richard  Leslie,  and  although 
he  never  said  a  word  calculated  to  prejudice  me  against* 
him,  I  knew  from  various  evidences  that  Goodall  disliked 
him  as  much  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  dislike  any  per- 
son. Still  I  did  not  see  my  way  clear  to  interpose  any  ob- 
jection, especially  as  I  could  not  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  Margaret  thought  her  happiness  depended  on  her  union 
with  Richard  Leslie,  and  therefore  the  marriage  took  place 
when  my  dear  child  was  in  her  twenty-first  year. 

"  It  was  arranged  that,  after  spending  a  short  time  with 
me  in  New  York,  Richard  Leslie  and  his  wife  should  make 
a  visit  to  Scotland,  and  then  returning  to  this  country,  he 
should  go  into  mercantile  business  for  himself.  His  father, 
he  said",  would  furnish  him  fifty  thousand  dollars  capital.  I 
had  already  settled  this  sum  on  Margaret;  so  that,  as  far  as 
pecuniary  matters  were  concerned,  everything  looked  prom- 
ising. 

"  For  several  weeks  after  their  marriage,  I  saw  no  reason 
to  regret  the  course  I -had  pursued.  Nothing  could  exceed 
Richard  Leslie's  devotion  to  his  wife,  and  she  was  only 
happy  in  his  presence.  No  one  appeared  to  be  dissatisfied 
but  Goodall  and  Matthew  Sedgefield.  The  former  said  or 


24  •  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

did  nothing  which  bore  even  the  semblance  of  unkindness. 
He  was  often  at  the  house  and  tried  to  look  pleased  at  wit- 
nessing the  happiness  of  her  whom  he  regarded  with  so 
much  affection ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  conceal 
from  me  the  fact  that  his  mind  was  ill  at  ease.  Sedgefield, 
after  endeavoring,  without  success,  to  conquer  his  unre- 
quited passion,  went  to  Europe  with  his  mother  and  sister. 
I  have  never  heard  from  them  since,  though  I  believe  they 
are  still  somewhere  on  the  Continent. 

"Week  after  week  passed,  and  Leslie  said  nothing  about 
going  to  Glasgow.  I  thought  it  strange,  though  I  was 
very  well  pleased  to  have  my  daughter  in  the  same  house 
with  me  longer  than  I  had  expected.  I  observed,  too,  that 
he  was  not  so  constantly  in  his  wife's  society,  and  that  some- 
times he  did  not  come  in  at  night  till  very  late;  but  he  al- 
ways, so  far  as  I  could  judge,  treated  her  with  kindness  and 
respect,  and  generally  seemed  sorry  that  she  should  fatigue 
herself  sitting  up  for  him.  He  excused  himself  for  his  late 
hours  by  alleging  occupation  with  his  father's  business. 
Margaret's  eyes  were  occasionally  red  and  swollen  at  break- 
fast, as  if  she  had  been  weeping,  but  I  attributed  this  to 
want  of  sleep.  Finally,  I  began  to  perceive  that  my  poor 
child  was  unhappy.  Leslie  became  more  and  more  indif- 
ferent to  her  society,  and  once  I  was  sure  he  had  been 
drinking  to  excess.  Still  I  did  not  think  it  expedient  to 
seem  to  notice  what  was  causing  me  great  uneasiness.  I 
knew  there  was  no  more  thankless  task  than  that  of  media- 
ting between  husband  and  wife  unless  the  necessity  was  very 
apparent.  I  determined,  however,  to  find  out  where  Leslie 
spent  his  nights,  and,  one  evening,  when  he  left  the  house, 
I  followed  him.  I  tracked  him  to  the  most  notorious  gam- 
bling-house in  New  York." 

John  Holmes  paused,  overcome  with  the  force  of  the  rec- 
ollections he  had  called  up.  Margaret  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  unable  longer  to.  restrain  her  grief.  Her 
grandfather  tenderly  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  drew 
her  closer  to  him.  They  sat  thus  for  several  minutes,  the 
silence  only  broken  by  Margaret's  sobs,  and  then  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  I  stood  on  the  pavement  opposite  the  gambling-house 
for  some  time,  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  in  regard  to  the 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  25 

course  to  be  pursued.  I  thought  at  first  of  entering,  and  ac- 
cusing Richard  Leslie  of  his  wicked  conduct  in  presence  of 
his  assembled  companions;  but  upon  reflection  I  determined 
upon  a  milder,  and  what  I  trusted  would  prove  a  more  effec- 
tual procedure.  I  resolved  to  go  home  and  wait  for  my 
son-in-law's  return,  and  then  as  mildly  and  as  persuasively 
as  possible  to  point  out  to  him  his  faults,  and  beg  him  to 
change  a  <jourse  which  could  only,  if  persevered  in,  cause  us 
all  unlimited  sorrow,  and  him  certain  ruin. 

«f '  Nearly  a  year  had  now  elapsed  since  mj  poor  Margaret's 
marriage.  1  had  written  to  Leslie's  father  in  Glasgow,  in- 
forming him  of  my  views  relative  to  his  son  establishing  him- 
self in  New  York,  but  had  received  no  answer.  From  many 
circumstances  needless  to  refer  to,  I  was  convinced  that 
Richard's  assertions  in  regard  to  his  father's  business  in 
New  York  were  unfounded.  In  fact,  I  was  trembling  with 
apprehension  when  I  made  the  discovery  I  have  just  men- 
tioned, and  then  my  worst  suspicions  were  confirmed. 

"  When  I  arrived  at  my  home  I  came  to  this  room  and 
waited  in  sadness,  not  unaccompanied  with  anger,  for  my 
son-in-law's  return.  I  resolved  not  to  inform  Margaret  oi% 
what  I  had  found  out  till  after  I  had  appealed  to  Richard 
himself;  but  after  I  had  waited  several  hours,  Margaret  en- 
tered the  room.  She  was  very  pale,  and  had  evidently  been 
weeping.  I  went  forward  to  meet  her,  and  she  threw  her- 
self into  my  arms  and  sobbed  as  though  her  heart  would 
break.  I  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  in  vain.  The  long  pent- 
up  anguish  of  many  months  had  at  last  burst  its  bonds, — and 
where  could  it  be  so  well  discharged  as  on  the  heart  of  her 
father,  now  her  best,  and  with  one  exception,  her  only  friend  ? 
What  added  greatly  to  my  distress  was  the  fact  that  my 
dear  Margaret  was  soon  to  become  a  mother. 

"  I  led  her  to  a  sofa,  and  continued  my  efforts  to  calm 
her.  I  told  her  that  there  was  yet  hope  of  saving  her  hus- 
band ;  that  come  what  might  she  still  had  her  father's  love 
to  depend  upon,  and  I  begged  her  to  remember  her  situa- 
tion, and  not  to  imperil  the  life  of  one  whose  existence  would 
be  so  dear  to  her  and  to  me ;  but  for  a  long  time  she  could 
do  nothing  but  sob  and  moan.  I  saw  that  her  hopes  of 
happiness  had  fled,  and  that  she  knew  how  fruitless  would  be 
all  attempts  to  reclaim  Richard  Leslie  from  his  criminal 


26  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

ways.  She  knew  how  thoroughly  false,  wicked,  and  de- 
praved he  was,  while  I  was  not  without  hope  that  he  had  as 
yet  only  reached  the  threshold  of  vice. 

"  Still,  my  last  appeal  to  her  had  its  effect,  and  she  became 
more  composed.  As  delicately  as  I  could,  and  with  every 
appearance  of  entertaining  hopes  for  a  better  future,  I  drew 
from  her  the  intelligence  that  Richard  Leslie  had  obtained 
from  her  the  whole  of  the  fortune  I  had  settled  upon  her, 
and  that  it  had  all  been  gambled  away.  The  last  thousand 
dollars  had  been  $iven  to  him  that  day.  Though  she  stated 
nothing  directly  on  the  subject,  I  saw  that  this  was  not  all, 
and  that  her  husband  had  ceased  to  care  for  her.  It  was 
this,  not  the  loss  of  her  money,  which  was  breaking  my  poor 
Margaret'iS  heart." 

John  Holmes's  emotion  now  became  so  great  that  he  was 
unable  to  proceed  for  several  minutes,  while;  Margaret  gave 
unrestrained  expression  to  her  intense  distress,  as  her  head 
rested  on  her  grandfather's  breast.  "  My  poor  mamma,  my 
poor,  dear  mamma  1"  was  all  she  could  say. 

"  It  was  a  sorrowful  time  that  my  dear  child  and  I  spent 
fe  waiting  for  her  husband's  coming,  and  we  began  to  de- 
^>air  of  his  return  that  night,  when  we  heard  the  front  door 
softly  opened  and  shut,  and  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the 
hall.  I  had  scarcely  time  to  say  a  few  words  of  encourage- 
ment to  her  when  Richard  Leslie  entered  the  room,  accom- 
panied by  two  other  men  whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  and 
whose  appearance  was  such  as  showed  them  to  be  even  more 
depraved  than  my  son-in-law.  He  looked  very  angry  when 
he  saw  Margaret ;  his  face  was  flushed,  his  hair  and  clothes 
in  disorder,  and  his  gait  unsteady.  I  saw  a  stormy  time  be- 
fore me,  but  I  was  prepared  for  it,  and  had  resolved  to  be 
determined  in  the  course  I  thought  right.  Motioning  to  his 
companions  to  be  seated,  Richard  Leslie  staggered  to  where 
I  sat  with  my  arm  around  my  Margaret's  waist,  and  looking 
her  in  the  face,  but  without  paying  the  least  attention  to 
me,  said,  in  hoarse  and  passionate  tones : 

"  '  What  are  you  doing  up  at  this  time  of  night?  Hatch- 
ing a  conspiracy  against  me,  I  suppose.  Go  to  bed  !'  Then, 
seeing  that  Margaret  did  not  raise  her  eyes  or  obey  him,  he 
strode  up  to  her,  and  shaking  his  clinched  fist  in  her  face, 
shrieked  out:  'Go  to  bed,  I  say,  or  by  the  living  God  I'll 
be  the  death  of  you  !' 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  27 

"Before  the  words  were  fairly  out  of  his  mouth  I  sprang 
to  my  feet  and  dealt  him  a  blow  in  the  face  which  sent  him 
reeling  to  the  floor ;  I  then  reached  out  my  hand,  opened  the 
table-drawer,  and  took  from  it  a  puir  of  small  pistols,  which 
had  been  loaded  for  many  years,  but  which  were  in  good 
order,  and  holding  them  in  readiness,  awaited  any  assault 
the  gang  might  make. 

"  When  Richard  Leslie  fell,  his  two  companions  raised 
him  from  the  ground,  and  a  hurried  consultation  took  place 
between  them.  I  saw  I  had  the  advantage  of  them  and  I 
did  not  intend  to  lose  it;  I  therefore  cocked  one  of  my  pis- 
tols, and  pointing  it  toward  the  one  who  appeared  to  be  the 
leader  of  the  party,  ordered  them  to  leave  the  house  in- 
stantly. Leslie  was  completely  stupefied  with  liquor  and 
the  blow  I  had  given  him,  and  was  incapable  of  making  any 
further  attack,  and  I  felt  myself  more  than  a  match  for  the 
other  two,  especially  as  I  perceived  that  they  had  no  fire- 
arms with  them.  The  one  whom  I  addressed  replied  that 
he  was  sorry  any  trouble  had  taken  place,  and  that  they  had 
come  to  see  me  to  collect  a  draft  which  Leslie  had  giv^n  him 
for  five  thousand  dollars,  which  if  I  would  pay  they  w 
.  leave  peaceably.  Of  course  I  refused,  and  advancing 
ward  them  with  my  pistol  in  my  hand,  I  again  ordered  them 
to  leave  or  I  would  fire  on  them.  Muttering  many  curses, 
they  laid  Leslie,  who  was  now  almost  insensible,  on  the 
floor,  and  hurriedly  departed.  I  followed  them  into  the 
hall,  and  locking  the  front  door  after  them,  returned  to  the 
room  where  I  had  left  Margaret.  I  found  that  she  had 
fainted,  but  the  blood  was  returning  to  her  face,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  she  recovered  her  faculties.  I  left  her  on  the  sofa, 
and  calling  the  servants,  directed  them  to  go  for  the  physi- 
cian and  Mr.  Goodall,  with  whom  I  wished  to  advise.  Les- 
lie was  still  on  the  floor,  breathing  heavily.  I  then  had  my 
dear  child  carried  to  her  room,  and  directing  a  man-servant 
to  watch  Leslie,  I  sat  by  her  bedside  till  the  doctor  and 
Goodall  were  announced.  I  saw  that  she  was  going  to  be 
ill,  and  a  few  words  with  the  physician,  after  he  had  seen  her, 
confirmed  my  apprehensions.  Leaving  her  in  his  care,  I  re- 
turned to  the  library,  where  Goodall  awaited  me.  Leslie  had 
so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  comprehend  what  was  saM 
to  him.  He  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  looking  very  angry,  and 
tried,  though  unsuccessfully,  to  get  up  when  I  entered.  I 


28  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

hastily  informed  Goodall  of  what  had  happened ;  and  then 
addressing  Leslie,  I  ordered  him  to  leave  the  house  and 
never  again  to  set  his  foot  inside  of  it,  and  told  him  that 
so  far  as  my  influence  would  prevail,  he  should  never  see 
his  wife  again. 

"  He  answered  that  he  never  wanted  to  see  her  again ; 
that  he  had  only  married  her  for  her  money;  that  he  not 
only  did  not  love  her,  but  thoroughly  hated  and  despised 
her;  and  then,  with  a  degree  of  sang  f raid  which  showed 
how  hardened  he  was  in  crime,  he  said  that  he  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  Scotland  for  having  forged  the  signature 
of  the  firm  to  which  his  father  belonged  ;  that  all  the  letters 
he  had  shown  me  were  forgeries,  and  that  ere  long  I  would 
learn  something  more  about  him  which  I  did  not  then  know. 
He  then  left  the  house,  and  I  have  never  seen  or  heard  of 
him  since. 

"To  say  that  I  was  horror-struck  by  these  revelations, 
.would  not  fully  express  the  state  of  my  mind.  I  was  over- 
whelmed, stupefied,  and  filled  with  sorrow  for  the  wrongs 
my  poor  Margaret  had  been  obliged  to  endure,  and  for  tfee 
^blight  which  had  been  cast  over  her  dear  life.  Goodall 
tried  to  soften  the  shock  to  me, — but  what  are  words  at  such 
a  time  ?  Even  as  he  was  speaking,  a  severer  and  still  more 
agonizing  blow  was  being  prepared  for  me.  He  was  utter- 
ing language  of  promise  and  comfort,  and  Margaret  was 
dying  in  the  chamber  above !  I  was  unprepared  for  this  ad- 
ditional affliction,  although  I  knew  that  my  dear  child's 
condition  was  such  as  required  the  most  tender  care,  and 
therefore  when  a  message  came  from  the  physician  request- 
ing my  presence,  I  obeyed  with  a  strong  feeling  of  hope  in 
my  heart  that  he  had  good  news  to  communicate.  But  the 
moment  I  saw  the  expression  of  his  face,  all  hope  vanished. 
In  a  few  hurried  but  solemn  words,  he  told  me  that  though 
you  were  born,  the  life  of  your  poor  mother  was  slowly  but 
surely  ebbing  away." 

Again  John  Holmes  stopped.  Margaret  made  no  at- 
tempt to  speak.  Her  agitation  was  inexpressibly  painful  to 
him,  and  yet  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  continue  on  to  the  end. 

"I  approached  the  bedside,"  he  resumed,  "and  wiped  her 
p«ale  cold  brow.  She  turned  her  eyes  on  me — those  dark- 
blue  eyes,  my  darling,  which  the  good  God  has  permitted 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  29 

me  still  to  see  in  you — and  tried  to  speak.  She  was  too 
weak,  for  no  sound  came  from  her  pallid  lips.  A  little  wine, 
which  she  was  able  to  swallow  though  with  great  difficulty, 
somewhat  revived  her  waning  strength,  and  she  whispered 
in  my  ear  a  few  words,  commending  you  to  my  care  and 
begging  me  not  to  blame  her  husband  too  much  for  what 
had  occurred.  Even  in  her  dying  moments,  her  thoughts 
were  of  him  who  had  treated  her  so  cruelly.  She  was  al- 
ways very  fond  of  Goodall,  and  therefore  I  was  not  sur- 
prised when  she  requested  to  see  him.  By  the  time  he 
entered  the  room,  she  was  again  too  much  exhausted  to 
speak,  and  could  no  longer  swallow  the  wine  which  was 
held  to  her  lips.  'She  saw  him,  however,  and  as  he  took 
her  hand  and  knelt  by  her  side,  her  face  was  lit  up  by  an 
expression  of  ineffable  interest,  and  then  the  soul  of  my 
dear  Margaret  was  no  longer  of  this  earth — she  was  dead. 
She  gave  her  life  to  you,  and  now  you  know  why  I  said 
that  you  would  love  her  more  after  hearing  the  story  of  her 
death  than  you  ever  did  before. 

"There  is  not  much  more  to  tell,  my  dear  child.  I  was 
very  wretched ;  but  why  should  I  try  to  represent  to  yoi 
how  bitter  was  ray  distress,  how  lonely  and  miserable  I  felt 
without  the  society  of  her  who  was  all  in  all  to  me  ?  In  you, 
however,  I  found  something  to  hope  for,  and  thus  in  time 
I  came  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  God  rarely  sends  us  a 
great  sorrow  without  giving  us  something  in  compensation. 

"As  to  Richard  Leslie — I  cannot  bear  to  call  him  your 
father — fresh  proofs  of  his  wickedness  came  to  my  knowl- 
edge. A  few  days  after  your  mother's  death,  two  drafts  for 
large  amounts,  having  the  forged  signatures  of  my  name, 
were  presented  to  me.  There  was  no  doubt  but  that  they 
had  been  uttered  by  him.  I  paid  them  without  a  word  rather 
than  let  the  world  know  the  full  measure  of  his  depravity. 
A  letter  received  from  his  father  expressed  the  greatest  re- 
gret at  his  falsehood,  and  gave  me  a  full  history  of  my 
unworthy  son-in-law's  criminal  conduct  in  Scotland.  It  is 
needless  for  me  to  state  any  further  particulars  of  it.  My 
only  fear  is  that  he  may  still  be  alive  and  may  some  day 
attempt  to  take  you  from  me.  If  that  should  ever  come  to 
pass,  do  not  forget  how  he  treated  your  poor  mother,  and 
how  in  every  way  he  is  unworthy  the  love  of  my  darling." 

4 


30  ROBERT   8EVERNE. 

Margaret's  heart  was  too  full  for  words,  but  she  put  her 
arms  around  her  grandfather's  neck  and  pressed  her  soft 
cheek  to  his. 

"Do  not  try  to  talk  to-night,  darling,"  he  said ;  "to-mor- 
row you  will  feel  more  calm,  and  then  I  will  answer  any 
questions  you  may  have  to  ask.  In  the  mean  time,  thank 
God  that  neither  in  body  nor  in  spirit  do  you  bear  any  re- 
semblance to  Richard  Leslie,  but  that  your  dear  mother 
lives  again  in  the  person  of  her  daughter.  You  will  here- 
after feel  as  if  you  knew  your  mother;  you  have  heard  a 
sorrowful  story,  but  you  will  not  regret  it,  inasmuch  as  it  has 
been  the  means  of  revealing  to  you  events  which  will  seem 
as  the  framework  for  a  new  ideal  world,  from  which  she  who 
gave  her  life  for  you  will  never  be  absent." 

"Yes,  grandpapa,"  said  Margaret,  through  her  tears,  "I 
shall  constantly  see  my  dear  mamma  and  feel  that  she  is 
watching  over  me.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  as  gcred  as  she 
was!  But  how  can  I,  grandpapa,  when  my  father  was  so 
very  wicked  ?"  and  again  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  God  has  made  you  unlike  him,  my  darling,  and  in  His 
"goodness  will  keep  you  so.  Since  your  poor  mother's 
death  you  have  been  the  chief  joy  of  my  life,  and  I  feel  that 
such  you  will  always  be.  One  thing  more,  dear  child.  I 
have  something  for  you  which  you  will  prize  above  all 
earthly  gifts.  For  seventeen  years  I  have  worn  it  next  my 
heart,  and  now  I  give  it  to  you."  So  saying,  John  Holmes 
took  from  his  neck  a  gold  chain,  to  which  was  attached  a 
miniature  set  in  a  locket,  which  he  put  in  Margaret's  hand. 
Margaret's  heart  fluttered  with  joy  as  she  gazed  long  and 
with  intense  emotion  at  the  fair  young  face  of  her  mother. 
She  saw  that  she  was  strikingly  like  it,  and,  as  she  raised  it 
reverently  to  her  lips,  she  inwardly  resolved  to  keep  the 
image  of  her  mother's  person  and  virtues,  which  her  grand- 
father's words  had  created,  always  fresh  in  her  heart.  Then 
thanking  him  for  his  precious  gift,  she  kissed  him  good 
night,  and,  going  to  her  own  chamber,  sat  for  several  hours 
with  her  mother's  miniature  in  her  hand,  deep  in  the  reflec- 
tions which  her  grandfather's  story  had  awakened. 

After  Margaret  left  the  library,  John  Holmes  lit  a  cigar 
and  paced  the  floor  as  was  his  custom.  He  liked  a  good 
cigar,  and  he  liked  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  while  he 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  31 

smoked  it.  He  smoked,  perhaps,  somewhat  more  energetic- 
ally than  usual,  and  his  pace  was  a  little  faster,  for  the  smooth 
course  of  his  evening  thoughts  had  been  ruffled.  He  had 
probably  been  thus  engaged  for  half  an  hour,  when  a  single 
stroke  of  a  bell  interrupted  him.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  Ten  o'clock !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late ! 
I  am  afraid  Joshua  has  had  trouble  again,  or  he  would  not 
disturb  me  on  this  evening  when  he  knows  I  am  not  in  the 
humor  even  for  my  favorite  science."  With  these  words, 
John  Holmes  passed  through  the  door  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  library,  crossed  his  bed-chamber,  then  a  narrow  passage- 
way, and  finally  entered  the  room  which  formed  the  last  of 
the  suite  appropriated  to  his  own  special  purposes. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

JOHN    HOLMES    AND    HIS    MAN. 

As  John  Holmes  opened  the  door  of  the  room  in  ques- 
tion, a  scene  was  presented,  which  if  not  a  strange  one  to 
him,  would  certainly  have  been  so  to  most  people  who  wit- 
nessed it.  The  room  was  not  large,  being  scarcely  more 
than  twelve  feet  square,  and  was  filled  to  its  utmost  capa- 
city with  apparatus  of  various  kinds,  furniture,  and  books, — 
most  of  the  latter,  with  their  black  calf  bindings  and  brass 
clasps,  giving  evidence  of  possessing  a  degree  of  antiquity 
which  no  scholar  could  regard  with  indifference.  At  a  large 
table,  which  occupied  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  which 
was  covered  with  retorts,  beakers,  flasks,  and  several  forms 
of  electrical  apparatus,  sat  the  half  servant,  half  companion 
who  has  been  already  mentioned.  He  was  a  short,  thick- 
set man,  perhaps  forty-five  years  of  age,  with  a  bright,  black 
and  rather  good-natured  eye,  a  nose  strongly  aquiline  in  its 
character,  and  a  wide  mouth,  which  was  tightly  closed,  and 
which,  when  he  spoke,  he  opened  to  a  very  slight  extent, 
and  apparently  with  as  much  difficulty  as  though  he  were 


32  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

laboring  under  the  lock-jaw  and  a'surgeon  were  forcing  the 
rows  of  teeth  asunder  with  a  lever  to  allow  his  words  to 
come  out.  If  ever  a  mouth  expressed  firmness,  that  of 
Joshua  did.  On  his  head  was  a  skull-cap  of  black  velvet, 
trimmed  with  tarnished  gold  lace,  which  looked  as  if  it 
might  at  one  time  have  done  service  as  John  Holmes's 
smoking-cap,  and  his  coat  was  very  similar,  both  in  material 
and  shape,  to  the  one  worn  by  the  bookseller  in  his  den. 
Altogether,  he  was  about  as  odd  a  looking  old  fellow  as 
one  would  desire  to  see,  and  though  there  was  a  lurking  ex- 
pression of  good  humor  about  his  face,  it  was  very  evident 
that  he  had  a  will  of  his  own,  which,  when  once  aroused  into 
activity,  could  not  easily  be  diverted  from  any  pursuit  in 
which  it  had  engaged  or  yield  opinions  which  it  had 
formed. 

As  he  sat  at  the  table  busily  occupied,  he  did  not  observe 
the  entrance  of  John  Holmes.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  small 
test-tube  containing  a  colored  liquid,  which  he  was  exam- 
ining with  great  care,  holding  it  between  his  eyes  and  the 
lamp,  and  occasionally  shaking  it  violently.  Apparently 
he  was  very  much  disappointed  that  the  reaction  he  expect- 
ed did  not  take  place;  but  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
have  ascertained  this  from  his  face,  his  hurried  manner 
alone  indicating  any  mental  disturbance.  John  Holmes 
stood  behind  him  unperceived,  and  also  closely  scrutinized 
the  contents  of  the  test-tube. 

"  I  hope  I  may  be  blessed  forever  and  ever !"  exclaimed 
Joshua,  at  last,  enunciating  each  word  in  a  spasmodic  sort 
of  way,  as  if  his  jaws  objected  to  being  opened  for  the  pur- 
pose of  allowing  him  to  speak.  "  I  hope  I  may  be  blessed 
forever  and  ever  if  I  understand  this  at  all !  It  ought  to 
have  turned  blue,  but  instead  of  that  it  has  turned  red. 
'Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity,  saith  the  preacher,'  and 
the  greatest  vanity  of  all  the  vanities  is  chemistry,  or 
rather  alchemistry  or  alchemy,  for  that's  just  what  it  is, 
neither  more  nor  less.  Ah,  my  worthy  friend,  Henry  Cor- 
nelius Agrippa,  Knight,  etc.,  you  were  right  when  you  called 
it  a  'composition  of  trifles  and  inventions  of  mad  brains.' 
I  don't  think  I  ever  appreciated  your  grand  work  'On  the 
Vanity  of  Arts'  till  now.  Who  but  a  madman  would  sit 
here  night  after  night  boiling  his  brains  over  furnaces  and 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  33 

blowpipes,  and  inhaling  all  sorts  of  abominable  fumes  like  I 
do  ?  What  is  the  use  of  it  ?  What  am  I  trying  to  do  ?  Sup- 
pose some  one  should  say  to  me,  'Joshua,  what  are  you 
working  at  in  the  laboratory  every  night  till  twelve  o'clock  ?' 
If  I  told  the  truth  I  should  answer,  '  Trying  to  make  197.' 
That  is  just  it.  Trying  to  make  197 — neither  more  nor 
less.  I  have  been  at  this  job  now  till  those  figures  are  burnt 
into  my  brain,  cooked  in  with  the  heat  of  oxyhydrogen  blow- 
pipes and  galvanic  batteries.  I  never  shut  my  eyes  but  I 
see  two  big  fiery  rings  with  197  in  blazing  figures  in  the 
centers. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  rang  for  the  master ;  but  what  was  I  to  do  ? 
I  have  followed  his  directions,  and  it  will  not  turn  blue.  We 
never  shall  make  197,  depend  upon  it." 

"  Yes  we  will,  Joshua,  if  we  work  hard,"  said  John 
Holmes,  coming  to  the  table,  and  taking  the  test-tube  out 
of  Joshua's  hand.  "  Why,  see !  it  has  turned  blue  while  you 
have  been  talking." 

And  sure  enough  the  fluid  was  now  of  a  deep-blue  color, 
when  but  a  few  minutes  since  it  was  dark  red. 

"  Well,  I  hope  I  may  be  blessed  forever  and  ever  1"  ex- 
claimed Joshua.  "  So  it  is.  Ah,  sir,  we  will  make  197  yet, 
and  then  we  will  be  the  greatest  men  in  the  world.  Princes 
and  kings  will  worship  us,  fair  maidens  will  smile  on  us,  and 
even  such  snap-dragons  as  Mrs.  Markland  will  think  well 
of  us." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Joshua,"  said  John  Holmes,  smiling  at 
his  companion's  earnestness.  "Don't  be  a  fool,  but  attend 
to  the  matter  before  us,  which  is  now  at  the  most  interesting 
stage  of  its  progress.  I  see  you  have  followed  my  direc- 
tions." 

"Yes,  sir,  "replied  Joshua,  resuming  his  nsual  sedateness 
and  spasmodic  articulation.  "  I  took  every  precaution,  and, 
as  you  see,  the  result  is  just  what  you  said  it  would  be.  I 
am  very  sorry  though,  sir,  that  I  disturbed  you ;  but  I  was 
at  my  wit's  end  when  the  color  did  not  change." 

"Well,  never  mind,  Joshua.  It  was  my  own  fault;  I 
ought  to  have  told  you  that  it  would  not  change  for  several 
minutes.  You  need  not  stay  any  longer  to-night.  You 
never  talk  about  our  work  here,  do  you,  Joshua  ?" 

"  Never,  sir.  No  one  knows  from  me  what  we  are  doing. 
4* 


34  ROBERT   SB  VERNE. 

I  never  say  what  our  work  is  outside  of  this  room,  uuless  it 
be  in  my  sleep." 

"  That  is  right,  Joshua.  Of  course  we  have  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  chemists,  and  that  we  do  not  care  for;  but  if 
the  world  suspected  that  we  were  alchemists,  we  should  be 
laughed  at,  and  considered  crazy.  Good  night,  Joshua, — 
good  night !" 

Joshua  took  his  departure,  and  John  Holmes  was  left  alone. 
The  test-tube,  with  the  blue  liquid,  which  had  interested 
them  both  so  much,  was  still  in  the  stand  where  the  former 
had  placed  it.  John  Holmes  raised  it  from  its  position  and 
held  it  close  to  the  light.  As  he  gazed  at  it  a  smile  of  in- 
tense satisfaction  came  over  his  countenance.  "  This,"  he 
said,  musingly,  "  convinces  me  that  I  am  on  the  right  path. 
I  have  now  proved  that  iodine  is  not  a  simple  substance, 
but  a  compound  of  bromine  and  chlorine  ;  that  manganese 
and  iron  are  isomeric  conditions  of  one  substance  just  as 
are  the  various  forms  of  carbon;  and  that  iridium  and  pla- 
tinum, likewise,  do  not  differ  from  each  other  except  in 
atomic  arrangement.  More  than  this,  I  have  advanced  far 
toward  showing  that  gold  is  a  compound  of  several  bodies, 
which  are  called  elementary ;  and  when  I  finish  this  demon- 
stration, I  shall  bring  my  labors  to  a  close.  I  will  have 
done  enough,  and  can  be  content  to  leave  to  others  the  glory 
of  proving  that  there  is  but  one  substance  in  nature,  and  to 
others  after  them  the  awful  duty  of  demonstrating  this  one 
and  indestructible  matter  to  be  self-creative  and  godlike,  if 
not  Deity  itself.  The  number  of  so-called  elements  must 
first  be  reduced.  Newton  and  Davy  did  their  parts  well, 
and  I  will  emulate  them.  There  is  but  one  substance.  It 
is  a  bewildering  thought,  but  it  is  true.  All  things  living  and 
dead  are  but  modifications  of  it.  Newton  proved  the  dia- 
mond and  charcoal  to  be  identical.  What  is  more  strange 
than  this  fact?  If  he  had  announced  it  without  proving  it, 
people  would  have  called  him  crazy,  just  as  they  would  me 
if  I  were  to  say  in  public  what  I  have  said  to-night  in  this 
room.  Balthazar  Claes,  that  grand  creation  of  Balzac's 
mind,  was  mad.  He  was  the  victim  of  a  single  idea,  and 
that  makes  one  insane.  He  wasted  his  property  and  his 
life  in  searching  for  the  absolute.  I  shall  never  carry  my 
thought  to  such  a  state  of  exaltation  as  he  did  his.  I  love 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  35 

science,  but  I  love  inydear  child  more.  Poor  Margaret,  how 
bitter  must  be  her  anguish  when  she  recalls  her  mother's 
wrongs  and  her  father's  crimes !  I  would  have  spared  her, 
had  it  been  right.  She  knows  all  now,  and  should  Richard 
Leslie  ever  make  his  appearance  again,  she  will  know  how 
to  regard  him.  I  fear  he  is  not  dead.  Why,  I  cannot  tell. 
If  he  had  lived,  I  should  doubtless  have  heard  of  him  in 
some  way  or  other  during  these  seventeen  years.  Yes,  he 
must  be  dead,  and  yet  I  cannot  avoid  the  apprehension 
which  forces  itself  upon  me. 

"  God  knows  I  did  not  exaggerate  his  wickedness  to  Mar- 
garet. Many  acts  of  unkindness  to  her  poor  mother  were 
left  untold.  What  I  revealed  was  all  true.  I  suppose  she 
will  be  thinking  of  marriage  some  day,  and  then  her  mother's 
fate  will  not  be  lost  upon  her.  I  must  take  care,  too — bet- 
ter care  than  I  took  when  I  allowed  Richard  Leslie  to  enter 
my  house.  Ah — well,  well,  time  enough  for  that  yet! 

"  Now,  let  me  see  how  stands  this  subject  of  the  compound 
nature  of  gold.  First  I  must  show  that  it  is  composed  of 
different  substances,  or  rather  different  forms  of  one  sub- 
stance. Next  I  must  take  these  several  constituents,  and 
combining  them  in  proper  proportions,  make-  gold.  I  shall 
thus  have  proved  my  point  by  analysis  and  by  synthesis. 
Thus  far  I  have  obtained  from  pure  gold,  lead  104,  sili- 
cium  22,  sulphur  16,  and  nitrogen  14.  The  sum  of  their 
equivalents  is  156.  As  gold  has  an  equivalent  of  197,  I 
have  still  to  separate  those  forms  of  my  universal  substance, 
the  sum  of  whose  equivalents  amounts  to  41.  I  assume  the 
probable  fact  that  oxygen  and  hydrogen  are  present  in  the 
proportions  necessary  to  form  water.  I  have  several  indi- 
cations that  this  is  so.  If  I  am  right,  I  have  to  recognize  a 
form  of  matter  the  equivalent  of  which  is  32 ;  or,  perhaps, 
two  or  more  forms  the  combined  equivalent  numbers  of  which 
amount  to  32.  The  former  was  more  probable  till  to-night, 
but  now  I  am  sure  that  more  than  one  form  of  matter  is 
present.  Copper,  phosphorus,  yttrium,  and  zinc  have  the 
same  atomic  weight  of  32.  This  little  test-tube  contains  the 
evidence  that  neither  of  them  enters  into  the  composition  of 
gold.  I  think  that  will  do  for  to-night.  In  truth,  I  must 
admit  that  I  am  unstrung  by  the  memories  I  have  recalled. 
Other  thoughts  than  those  of  a  scientific  character  occupy 


36  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

my  mind.  To-morrow,  however,  will  find  me  more  com- 
posed, and  then  I  shall  go  to  work  with  renewed  ardor.  I 
wish  I  had  Kieser's  book,  not  so  much  for  any  valuable  in- 
formation it  contains — for  those  old  alchemists  were  great 
humbugs — as  for  its  value  as  a  curiosity.  Even  if  Groodall 
orders  it  to-night,  it  will  be  a  month  before  it  can  arrive." 

With  these  words,  John  Holmes,  after  arranging  the  ap- 
paratus on  the  table  in  the  order  in  which  he  would  prob- 
ably use  it  at  his  next  period  of  study,  quitted  the  laboratory, 
and  in  a  short  time  was  sleeping  as  soundly  as  though  no- 
thing had  occurred  to  disturb  his  mental  quietude. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

IN    WHICH    THE    HERO    AND     HIS    NEXT    FJIIEND    APPEAR    UPON 
THE    STAGE. 

ON  the  last  day  of  the  year,  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of 
the  city,  and  at  about  the  time  John  Holmes  was  telling  to 
Margaret  Leslie  the  story  which  had  caused  her  so  much 
pain,  but  which  had  also  revealed  to  her  mental  vision  the 
image  of  her  mother,  and  had  thus  opened  in  her  bosom  a 
new  source  of  love,  two  gentlemen  were  sitting  at  a  dinner- 
table,  in  a  luxuriously  furnished  room,  sipping  their  claret 
and  carrying  on  a  most  animated  conversation.  Judging 
from  the  appearance  of  the  side-table,  the  repast  had  been 
one  with  which  the  most  exacting  gourmet  would  have  been 
fully  satisfied,  and  the  wine  which  they  carried  to  their  lips, 
in  glasses  as  thin  as  an  egg-shell  and  almost  as  fragile, 
coming  as  it  did  from  the  sunniest  spot  in  the  vineyard  of 
the  Chateau  Lafitte,  and  being  as  it  was  of  the  vintage  of 
one  of  the  sunniest  years,  would  have  softened  the  heart 
of  any  anchorite  capable  of  appreciating  its  delicious  fra- 
grance and  flavor. 

The  one  who  appeared  to  be  the  master  of  the  house  was 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
considerably  above  the  average  stature.  His  chest  was 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  37 

broad  and  full,  and  his  whole  frame  gave  evidence  of  great 
physical  strength.  The  expression  of  his  features  vva<  in- 
tellectual; but  few  would  have  pronounced  him  handsome, 
because  few  are  able  to  see  beauty  unless  there  is  a  turn- 
ing-lathe regularity  of  the  lineaments,  which  may  indicate 
anything  at  'all  but  force  of  character.  The  forehead  was 
both  broad  and  high,  and  overhung  the  eyes,  which  were 
rather  deeply  set,  were  large,  and  of  that  indescribable  color 
which  sometimes  appears  to  be  black  and  at  others  dark  blue. 
His  nose  was  neither  large  nor  small,  and  though  the  out- 
line was  not  Grecian,  it  was  not  retrousse.  Some  would 
have  called  it  aquiline  and  others  Roman.  The  mouth 
was  larger  than  is  regarded  as  altogether  becoming,  and 
the  lips,  though  somewhat  full,  could  scarcely  be  considered 
sensual,  although  they  indicated  warm  and  genial  feelings. 
His  head  was  of  full  size,  broad,  but  not  so  high  arched  as 
to  give  evidence  of  weakness  and  superstition  in  its  posses- 
sor, and  there  was  an  abundance  of  dark-brown  curly  hair, 
which,  however,  like  his  beard,  was  kept  short,  and  which 
therefore  allowed  the  contour  of  his  head  to  be  seen  in  all 
its  beauty  of  high  mental  development. 

Though,  as  we  have  said,  few  persons  would  have  pro- 
nounced Robert  Severne  handsome,  scarcely  any  would  have 
denied  that  there  was  something  about  his  face  which  ren- 
dered it  worthy  of  more  than  a  casual  glance.  Intellectu- 
ality, quiet  composure,  self-reliance  were  there,  so  well 
marked  that  they  could  not  be  overlooked ;  but  there  were 
evidences  of  more  impetuous  and  more  passionate  charac- 
teristics, which  flashed  up  as  he  became  interested  in  the 
conversation,  or  as  some  exciting  thought  passed  through 
his  mind,  and  then  faded  away,  so  that  only  the  adept  in  the 
study  of  the  human  countenance  could  have  detected  them. 

Nor  was  this  all.  It  needed  no  very  careful  scrutiny  of 
Robert  Severne's  face  to  be  assured  that  he  was  Hot  a 
happy  man,  and  it  was  this  perhaps  which  excited  so  greatly 
the  interest  of  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  It  aroused 
a  spirit  of  curiosity,  it  became  a  mystery ;  for  why  should 
not  he  be  at  ease  who  apparently  possessed  all  the  cards 
necessary  to  win  in  the  game  of  life  ?  Yet  so  it  was ;  with 
high  physical  health,  with  far  more  than  ordinary  mental 
abilities,  with  correct  ideas  of  his  duties  to  God  and  to  his 


38  ROBERT    8EVERNE. 

fellow-men,  with  habits  and  traits  formed  by  a  thorough 
moral  and  intellectual  education,  and  with  wealth  which 
enabled  him  to  gratify  almost  every  wish,  Robert  Severne 
was  unhappy.  Hopes  had  been  unfulfilled,  desires  had  been 
ungratified,  troubles  had  been  endured,  till  little  by  little 
they  had  left  their  marks  upon  his  countenance  in  lines  and 
expressions  so  deep,  that  time  and  every  element  of  material 
prosperity  had  been  powerless  to  efface  them. 

It  would  have  been  strange,  indeed,  if  Robert  Severne's 
mind  had  not  exhibited  some  traces  of  what  his  face  so 
clearly  revealed.  He  had  learned  to  distrust  others,  to  see 
through  their  pretensions,  to  discover  motives  when  their 
owners  thought  them  most  securely  hid,  and  to  unveil  the 
lies,  the  subterfuges,  and  the  meannesses  by  which  men  seek 
to  obtain  their  ends.  Yet  true  and  high  toned  himself,  no 
one  was  more  capable  than  he  of  appreciating  in  others 
those  qualities  which  adorn  the  soul,  and  which,  as  it  were, 
are  the  seal  of  divinity  stamped  upon  an  immortal  spirit. 

Had  it  not  been  for  his  literary  and  scientific  tastes, 
Severne  would  have  found,  at  the  commencement  of  his 
trials,  but  little  in  life  to  give  him  pleasure.  He  had  studied 
human  nature,  and  had  discovered  its  shortcomings;  he 
had  trusted  in  so-called  friends,  and  had  experienced  the 
hollowness  of  their  professions;  he  had  seen  those  whom  he 
regarded  as  upright  and  honorable  men,  shrink  from  their 
duty  when  right  and  expediency  came  in  conflict;  he  had 
suffered  outrage  and  indignity,  when  those  who  knew  his 
innocence,  and  who  should  have  vindicated  his  good  name, 
kept  silence  rather  than  side  with  a  losing  cause.  But  in  his 
books  he  had  always  found  consolation;  in  his  science  he 
had  always  found  truth,  and  thus  he  had  been  able  to  sur- 
round himself  with  a  new  atmosphere  in  place  of  the  old 
from  which  he  had  fled,  and  to  obtain  enjoyment  from 
source's  which  never  failed  to  respond  to  the  demands  made 
upon  them. 

But  experience  showed  him  that  this  was  not  enough.  As 
Aristotle  has  said,  no  one  not  a  beast  or  a  god  can  take 
pleasure  in  solitude.  Severne  had  tried  to  isolate  himself 
from  the  world,  and  he  had  failed.  There  were  some  friends 
who  would  not  be  cast  off,  who  clung  to  him  when  misfor- 
tune was  at  its  height,  and  with  whom,  consequently,  when 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  39 

the  bitterness  of  his  grief  had  in  a  measure  subsided,  he  de- 
lighted to  hold  intercourse. 

Among  those  few  who,  having  known  Severne  in  former 
prosperity,  had  adhered  to  him  in  adversity,  had  never  lost 
faith  in  his  honor,  nor  from  fear  of  any  consequences  to  them- 
selves had  failed  to  espouse  openly  the  cause  which  had 
nothing  but  its  righteousness  to  recommend  it,  Edward 
Lawrence,  who  now  sat  at  the  table  with  him,  stood  first. 
There  are  those  in  the  world  who  are  faithful  and  true,  who 
place  their  friends  aboTe  themselves,  who  add  to  the  joys, 
lessen  the  griefs,  and  yet  never  become  the  mere  blind  ad- 
herents, seeing  perfection  in  every  thought  and  act  of  those 
to  whom  they  bind  themselves.  Such  a  one  was  Edward 
Lawrence.  He  could  rejoice,  sympathize,  and  advise  with 
his  friend.  He  could  appreciate  both  excellences  and  de- 
fects of  character,  and  never  underestimated  the  one  nor 
overrated  the  other.  His  influence  with  Severne  had  been 
and  was  very  great.  He  had  softened  the  cynicism  which 
the  latter  was  beginning  to  show,  and  though  his  mental 
power  was  not  so  ample  as  that  of  his'friend,  nor  his  educa- 
tion so  extensive,  there  was  so  much  good  sense  in  all  his 
thoughts,  and  they  were  urged  with  such  moderation,  and 
yet  with  such  force,  as  to  give  them  great  weight  with  one 
who,  like  Severne,  knew  how  loyal  and  true  was  the  heart 
from  which  they  came. 

Lawrence,  though  not  wealthy,  obtained  a  sufficient  in- 
come from  his  profession  to  enable  him  to  enjoy  the  com- 
forts and  many  of  the  luxuries  of  life.  He  was  a  physician, 
one  of  those  who,  not  content  with  the  science  of  medicine 
as  they  find  it,  seek  with  unceasing  labor  to  enlarge  its 
boundaries,  and  thus  to  render  it  more  and  more  worthy  of 
its  divine  mission.  He  was  not  what  is  called  a  genius,  but 
he  had  a  well  balanced  mind,  one  fruitful  in  resources,  and 
which  never  faltered  in  the  face  of  dangers  and  difficulties 
of  any  kind.  His  thin,  slight  figure  and  pale  countenance 
were  not  indicative  of  much  bodily  strength,  nor  even  of 
robust  health,  and  his  features  expressed  thoughtfulness 
rather  than  vivacity.  He  was  certainly  not  a  "  good-na- 
tured man," — such  are  almost  always  weak, — and  yet  he 
never  wantonly  said  a  word  or  did  an  act  which  was  calcu- 
lated to  wound  the  feelings  of  any  one.  On  the  contrary, 


40  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

his  time,  his  services,  and  his  money  were  given  unstintedly 
to  those  who  required  and  deserved  them  of  him.  In  all 
these  ways  he  had  befriended  Severne,  and  the  latter  never 
forgot  the  debt,  nor  ceased  to  remember  that  when  others 
stood  aloof,  this  one  had  been  to  him  more  than  a  brother. 

"And  so  you  think  I  ought  to  marry  ?"  said  Severne, 
poising  his  claret  glass  by  its  straw-like  stem,  and  looking 
admiringly  at  its  ruby  contents.  "  For  once,  at  least,  I  am 
able  to  answer  you  in  a  way  which,  as  a  native-born  Yankee, 
you  will  doubtless  appreciate  in  all  its  force.  Why  don't 
you  get  married  yourself?" 

"  I  intend  to  do  so,"  replied  Lawrence,  with  gravity. 

"Oh,  you  do  !  You  do  not  appear  to  be  overjoyed  at  the 
prospect.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  your  tones  are  as  lugu- 
brious as  though  you  were  telling  me  you  feared  losing  your 
head  instead  of  your  heart." 

"Are  they  ?"  replied  Lawrence,  smiling.  "Perhaps  it  is 
because  I  really  think  one  is  about  as  serious  a  matter  as 
the  other,  though  certainly  much  more  agreeable.  I  speak 
earnestly  because  I  feel  the  importance  of  the  step  I  con- 
template. Having  definitely  made  up  my  mind  that  I  shall 
increase  my  own  happiness,  and  perhaps  that  of  another 
mortal,  by  marrying,  I  am  naturally  desirous  of  indoctrina- 
ting you  with  my  ideas,  and  therefore,  my  dear  Severue,  I 
have  given  you  at  least  ten  good  reasons  why  you  should 
follow  my  example." 

"And  what  is  there  in  marriage  so  pleasant  that  I  should 
again  voluntarily  bind  myself  in  its  chains  ?  Do  you  think, 
Lawrence,  that  I  have  forgotten  the  bitter  experience  of  the 
past;  that  all  its  torturing  lessons  have  been  in  vain,  or 
that  love  with  me  is  a  passion  which,  when  once  burned  out, 
can,  phoenix  like,  rise  again  from  the  ashes  of  my  heart  ? 
Can  I  look  back  upon  my  married  life  and  find  one  single 
spark  of  light  in  the  abyss  of  darkness  ?  Do  not,  therefore, 
urge  me  to  do  that  from  which  my  whole  soul  revolts.  I 
am  well  enough  as  it  is,  and  cannot  hope  to  be  happier  than 
I  am  now,  blessed  as  I  am  with  your  friendship." 

"And  yet,  my  dear  Severne,  you  are  not  happy.  You 
overburden  yourself  with  the  memories  of  sorrows  which 
have  long  since  been  dissipated.  You  brood  over  the  past 
as  if  it  were  a  thing  of  to-day,  when,  iu.  fact,  no  one  ele- 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  41 

ment  of  it  remains.  Your  circumstances,  your  position  are' 
altogether  different.  You  married  mainly  to  please  your 
father,  and  from  what  was  an  exalted  but  mistaken  sense  of 
duty ;  now  you  would  do  so  to  please  yourself,  and  with  the 
soberness  arising  from  a  mature  mind.  You  were  then  too 
young  to  appreciate  the  importance  of  the  step  you  took, 
and  consequently  you  ventured  upon  it  rashly,  with  no 
thought  of  the  future.  Xow  you  are  of  riper  age,  with 
both  more  reason  and  more  experience  to  guide  you.  Heed 
the  lessons  which  the  past  teaches  you,  but  take  them  at  their 
proper  value.  Unless  you  have  made  up  your  mind  that 
there  is  no  hope  of  your  finding  a  good  and  true  woman 
who  will  be  your  wife,  your  ideas  are  unreasonable,  and  if 
you  have  formed  such  an  opinion,  you  have  done  so  on  a 
very  insufficient  basis,  and  the  sooner  you  get  the  notion  out 
of  your  head  the  better  it  will  be  for  you." 

"And  I  have  very  nearly  arrived  at  the  conclusion  which 
you  denounce  so  positively.  Since  my  sojourn  in  this  conn- 
try,  I  have  seen  but  one  woman  I  would  have  been  willing  to 
make  my  wife,  and  of  course  I  have  no  idea  of  trying  my 
fortune  again  in  England.  As  I  say,there  was  one  I  might 
have  loved,  but  I  could  not  permit  myself  to  yield  to  the 
allurement,  for  I  had  nothing  then  to  offer  her  but  a  life  of 
poverty  and  hardship.  Besides,  I  do  not  think  she  cared 
particularly  for  me,  and  since  then  she  has  married,  and  is 
happier  far  than  I  could  have  made  her.  Why  should  I 
make  it  longer  a  secret  ?  You,  Lawrence,  must  know  to 
whom  I  refer." 

"My  sister  Mary?  I  never  suspected  this,"  said  Law- 
rence, sadly.  "  You  should  have  confided  in  me,  my  dear 
friend,  and  perhaps  it  might  have  been  as  you  and  I  would 
have  wished.  I  think  Mary  at  one  time  was  interested  in 
you;  but  you  seemed  to  shun  her  society,  and  I  know  she 
acquired  the  idea  that  you  disliked  her.  I  knew  better  than 
this,  but  I  attributed  your  avoidance  of  her  to  another 
cause.  How  little  we  both  understood  you  then !  As  to 
the  poverty,  believe  me,  Mary  would  not  have  minded  that 
when  shared  with  one  she  loved." 

"I  think  I  might  have  loved  her,"  said  Severne,  musingly. 
"  She  was  like  you,  Lawrence,  though  cast  in  even  a  more 
delicate  mould.  She  was  very  beautiful,  too,  when  I  saw 

5 


42  ROBERT    SEVEK.NE. 

her  last,  just  before  she  went  to  Europe ;  very  proud  of  her 
husband,  and  very  happy.  Don't  distress  yourself  over  it," 
he  continued,  addressing  his  friend;  "Gilman  is  a  good  fel- 
low and  worthy  of  her.  Remember,  too,  that  I  did  not 
actually  love  her,  except  as  your  sister,  and  as  a  noble  and 
true-hearted  woman  should  be  loved  by  her  brother's  friend. 
That  she  was  interested  in  me  I  believe,  but  it  was  the  in- 
terest excited  by  sympathy  and  by  your  attachment,  not  by 
any  particular  regard  or  admiration  she  had  for  Robert 
Severne.  In  fact,  Lawrence,  I  doubt  very  much  if  I  am 
capable  of  exciting  the  emotion  of  love  in  the  heart  of  any 
sensible  woman.  I  suppose  if  I  were  to  try,  I  could  get 
married  without  much  difficulty ;  any  man  with  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year  can.  But,  as  you  know,  such  a  marriage 
would  not  suit  me.  I  must  have  true,  unaffected,  devoted 
love — the  love  that  shrinks  at  nothing,  that  sees  in  its  ob- 
ject a  divinity  which  it  worships,  in  which  it  trusts,  and  for 
which  it  is  ready  to  die  if  need  be.  You  see  I  expect  a  good 
deal.  I  do  not  even  make  friends  readily.  I  dislike  to  form 
new  acquaintances.  People  say  I  am  haughty  and  over- 
bearing in  my  manners.  Perhaps  I  am  so  to  some  persons. 
To  those  I  like  I  try  to  be  the  reverse;  but  sometimes  I  am 
painfully  conscious  of  failure  It  is  unreasonable,  therefore, 
to  expect  that  a  young,  beautiful,  intellectual,  and  warm- 
hearted girl,  with  a  soul  as  fresh  as  a  May  morning,  could 
ever  love  so  seared  and  wearied  a  mortal  as  I  am ;  one  who 
takes  nothing  on  faith,  who  is  suspicious,  who  hasjosl  the 
bloom  of  youth  in  a  precocious  maturity,  and  who  is  there- 
fore unfit  to  have  his  life  bound  up  with  that  of  an  innocent, 
hopeful,  trusting  woman.  In  place  of  a  heart,  she  would  find 
a  cinder;  in  place  of  confidence,  caution.  In  time  she  would 
lose  all  her  artlessness.  She  would  become  experienced. 
An  experienced  woman !  What  that  is  unfeminine  or  un- 
lovely is  not  embraced  in  the  phrase?  It  is  bad  enough 
when  applied  to  men — to  woman  it  is  disgusting.  And  so, 
my  dear  Lawrence,  I  think  it  would  be  wicked  for  me  to 
entrap  such  a  one  as  I  have  described  into  a  life-long  union. 
Do  not,  therefore,  urge  me  further.  You  know  how  influ- 
ential your  arguments  are  with  me,  and  how  in  the  end  I 
generally  yield  to  them.  Perhaps  it  is  because  you  are  so 
often  right.  You  may  be  so  in  this  instance,  and  therefore 


,     '  ROBERT    SEVERNE.  43 

I  ask  your  mercy.  Let  me  alone  at  least  for  the  present. 
Time  may  bring  me  to  see  the  matter  as  you  do;  but  I  can 
conceive  of  nothing  more  repugnant  to  my  sense  of  delicacy 
and  to  my  whole  nature,  than  setting  out  deliberately  in 
search  of  a  wife,  with  as  much  self  possession  as  though  one 
were  going  on  a  hunting  or  fishing  expedition.  Take  a 
cigar,  my  dear  fellow,  and  tell  me  who  is  to  be  Mrs.  Law- 
rence. I  would  rather  talk  about  you  than  about  myself  at 
any  time." 

"I  think  you  do  yourself  great  injustice,"  replied  Law- 
rence. "There  are  many  women  worthy  to  be  your  wife, 
who  would  regard  you  with  more  favor  and  more  fairness. 
You  are  distrustful  of  your  own  powers,  and  unconsciously 
exaggerate  the  difficulties  of  your  position.  I  think  I  know 
you  better  than  you  know  yourself,  with  all  your  experience 
and  all  your  study.  You  have  a  degree  of  self-will  and 
strength  of  character  which  few  possess.  You  have  only  to 
resolve  that  you  will  break  through  this  dark  wall  which 
shuts  you  out  from  society,  and  my  word  for  it,  you  will  be 
successful.  You  have  no  right  to  seclude  yourself  from  the 
world.  You  have  intellect,  good  looks,  education,  a  love 
for  art,  wealth,  and  many  other  qualifications  which  men 
and  women  regard  with  favor.  You  can  take  any  position 
in  life  that  you  choose.  As  it  is,  you  spend  your  days  and 
nights  in  reading  musty  books,  or  in  working  in  an  ill-venti- 
lated and  overheated  laboratory.  Even  your  physical  health, 
magnificent  as  it  has  always  been,  is  beginning  to  suffer,  and 
your  brain  cannot  long  withstand  the  influence  of  such  a 
pernicious  system.  Be  warned  in  time." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Severne,  laughing,  "  I  am  sure  I 
ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  extremely 
flattering  character  you  have  given  me.  I  see  now  that  I 
have  only  to  announce  myself  as  in  the  matrimonial  market, 
to  be  inundated  by  applications  for  the  honor  of  becoming 
Mrs.  Severne.  Your  last  two  arguments  are  almost  irresist- 
ible. Let  me  see ;  suppose  I  send  an  advertisement  to  the 
newspapers  somewhat  in  this  style :  'A  gentleman,  thirty 
years  of  age,  good  looking,  of  high  intellectual  develop- 
ment, superior  education,  refined  tastes,  and  considerable 
wealth,  to  say  nothing  of  many  other  endearing  character- 
istics, is  desirous  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  worthy 


44  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

young  woman,  who  will  regard  him  with  a  more  favorable 
judgment  than  he  can  conscientiously  give  to  himself.  He 
takes  this  step,  not  from  any  particular  desire  to  be  mar- 
ried, but  because  his  health  has  been  broken  down  by  exces- 
sive literary  and  scientific  labor,  and  fears  are  entertained  by 
his  medical  advisers  that  his  reason  may  likewise  soon  give 
way.  It  is  hoped  by  his  friends  that  the  change  of  associa- 
tions incident  to  the  condition  of  matrimony  would  lead  to 
his  complete  restoration.  A  lady  experienced  in  taking  care 
of  invalids  preferred.  J  To  be  sure,  some  far-seeing  people 
might  say,  'Poor  fellow,  the  anticipations  of  his  physicians 
have  been  already  realized!'  but  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence. I  should  get  a  wife,  my  life  would  be  saved,  my  rea- 
son preserved,  and  I  should  be  happy.  Now,  Lawrence,  I 
have  taken  a  fair  view  of  your  proposition  and  opinions, 
and  I  must  say,  with  all  due  respect,  that  I  think  they  are 
very  ridiculous.  I  don't  overexert  myself  with  my  books 
and  laboratory.  My  health  was  never  better,  and  as  to  my 
mind,  it  may  not  be  much  to  boast  of,  but  it  is  at  least  as 
good  as  it  ever  was.  Besides,  it  is  preposterous  for  you, 
one  of  the  hardest  students  in  New  York,  to  find  fault  with 
me  for  spending  a  large  portion  of  my  time  in  occupations 
which  are  not  only  congenial,  but  which  I  trust  make  me  a 
better  and  a  wiser  man  every  day." 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  am  glad  to  have  amused  you,  but 
should  have  been  much  more  pleased  if  you  had  taken  my 
remarks  more  seriously.  You  may  not  now  feel  any  ill  con- 
sequences from  your  mode  of  life,  but  be  assured  they  will 
come.  It  is  only  a  few  days  since  that  a  well-known  literary 
gentleman  consulted  me  in  regard  to  his  case.  '  For  God's 
sake,  put  me  to  sleep,'  he  said,  'I  have  not  closed  my  eyes 
for  two  weeks!'  He  was  too  late;  yesterday  he  was  taken 
to  Bloomingdale.  Flesh  and  blood  and  brains  are  strong. 
With  care  they  wear  well ;  but  they  are  not  stone  and  iron, 
and  some  of  these  days  you  may  perhaps  discover  it  for 
yourself." 

"But  I  am  not  like  your  literary  gentleman,"  replied 
Severne.  "I  go  to  bed  late,  but  I  sleep  well.  As  soon  as 
I  feel  the  least  symptom  of  giving  way,  I  will  get  you  to 
put  me  on  my  pins  again;  and  in  the  mean  time,  as  you 
wish  it,  will  think  seriously  of  what  you  have  said.  As  you 


.ROBERT   SEVERNE.  45 

say,  I  am  not  happy.  It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  I  were. 
Would  to  God  that  my  flesh  and  blood  and  brain  were 
stone  and  iron,  or  something  else  as  unimpressionable  ! 
Then  I  might  enjoy  a  sort  of  idiotic  contentment,  which 
would  be  preferable  to  my  present  condition.  But  enough 
of  this.  You  have  not  informed  me  yet  who  is  to  be  Mrs. 
Lawrence." 

"I  do  not  know  yet  myself.  I  am  looking  out  for  her 
with  as  much  deliberation,  to  use  your  idea,  as  though  I 
were  hunting  for  a  wild  duck  or  trying  to  hook  a  fine  trout. 
I  have  simply  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  some  one,  and  don't 
intend  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  it.  By-the-by.  now  that  you 
have  come  into  possession  of  a  large  estate  in  England,  will 
you  not  find  it  necessary  to  return  there  for  a  short  time  ?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  Freeling  manages  all  my  business 
matters  for  me.  I  sent  him  over  a  short  time  since,  and  he 
reports  that  my  presence  will  not  be  required.  There  was 
no  dispute  in  regard  to  the  property.  My  father's  will  was 
perfectly  in  form,  and  all  the  real  estate  was  entailed.  I 
have  no  very  near  relatives,  the  next  of  kin  being  a  second 
cousin,  residing  somewhere  in  Cornwall,  whom  I  have  never 
seen,  and  to  whom  the  legacy  my  father  left  him  having  been 
paid,  there  is  no  necessity  for  my  making  his  acquaintance. 
A  visit  to  England  would  be  very  distasteful  to  me  in  every 
way.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  again  see  the  land  of  my 
birth." 

"  You  ought  not  to  say  so,"  said  Lawrence.  "It  appears 
to  me  that  you  ought  to  make  it  a  point  to  return,  if  only 
fo«  the  sake  of  letting  those  who  formerly  annoyed  you  see 
that  you  have  not  only  lived,  but  have  prospered  in  spite  of 
them.  Doubtless  the  pretended  friends  who  once  cast  you 
off  would  now  be  the  first  to  assure  you  that  they  always 
trusted  and  believed  in  you." 

"Of  course  they  would,  as  Pompey  reminded  Sylla, 
'more  people  worship  the  rising  than  the  setting  sun.'  It 
may  be  very  wicked,  but  it  is  very  human  to  love  your  friends 
and  hate  your  enemies.  I  am  afraid  I  do  both  right  cor- 
dially. An  open,  undisguised,  and  persistent  enemy  claims 
.my  respect  as  well  as  my  hate  ;  but  for  the  fawning  syco- 
phants who  crowded  around  me,  smiling  when  I  smiled, 

5* 


46  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

frowning  when  I  frowned,  who  appropriated  my  thoughts, 
ate  my  dinners,  drove  my  horses,  borrowed  my  money,  and 
then,  at  the  first  shock  of  disaster,  held  up  their  hands 
in  pious  horror,  and  by  their  innuendoes  and  silence  gave  a 
coloring  of  truth  to  the  wicked  lies  of  my  persecutors, — for 
them  I  cannot  express  the  extent  of  my  loathing  and  dis- 
gust. It  would  be  very  pleasant,  certainly,  to  meet  these 
people  in  my  changed  fortune,  and  to  witness  the  chagrin 
they  must  feel  and  could  not  conceal.  My  dear  Lawrence, 
if  I  should  conclude  to  return  to  England,  will  you  go  with 
me?" 

"  So  there  is  an  emotion  which  can  be  excited  in  you !" 
said  Lawrence,  smiling.  "Although  it  is  very  different  from 
the  one  I  hoped  to  arouse,  it  is  far  better  than  the  state  of 
passive  indifference  to  everything  into  which  I  fear  you 
are  drifting.  You  wish  to  triumph  over  your  enemies  ? 
A  very  worldly,  but  not  a  very  Christian  wish.  You  know 
that  I  have  never  thought  you  perfect,  and  this  last  revela- 
tion of  your  thoughts  confirms  my  judgment.  However,  I 
shall  not  scold  you  for  it.  As  to  going  with  you  to  England, 
how  can  I  ?  Unlike  you,  I  am  obliged  to  work  for  my 
living.  No,  no  ;  go  by  yourself,  and  leave  me  here  to  take 
care  of  my  patients  and  find  a  wife." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  in  any  event,  but  if  I  should  you 
must  accompany  me,  and  more  than  that,  you  must  allow  me, 
as  the  expedition  is  entirely  for  my  benefit,  to  look  after  all 
the  expenses.  My  physical  and  mental  condition  is  so  very 
critical,  you  know,  that  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  travel 
without  a  physician.  Well,"  he  continued,  lighting  another 
cigar,  "  I'll  think  it  all  over.  There  may  be  something  in 
what  you  say,  but  really,  I  never  felt  better  or  stronger  in 
my  life.  Labor  comes  natural  to  me ;  I  should  not  be  able 
to  exist  without  it,  so  that  like  you,  my  dear  Lawrence,  I 
too  am  obliged  to  work  for  my  living.  I  almost  wish  I  had 
to  work  for  my  bread  again,  for  now  one  of  the  chief  in- 
ducements to  exertion,  one  from  which  there  was  no  es- 
cape, is  removed,  the  consequence  is  that  my  work  is  not 
so  effective  as  it  used  to  be,  and  I  am  consequently  afraid 
of  degenerating  into  a  state  of  superficial  amateurism  from 
which  it  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  extricate  myself." 

"No  fear  of  that.      Why,  Severne,  you  are  one  of  the 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  47 

most  constant  and  steady  students  I  know  anywhere.  I 
have  seen  many  men,  in  Germany  especially,  who  carried 
their  labors  to  a  very  extreme  point,  who  would  write  a  vo- 
luminous treatise  on  the  digestive  organs  of  an  earth-worm, 
or  on  the  difference  between  free  agency  and  free  will,  or 
on  the  presumptive  qualities  of  some  hypothetical  substance, 
but  I  never  met  with  one  so  thoroughly  capable  of  exhaust- 
ing a  subject  as  you  are.  That  is  the  trouble  with  you.  If 
you  would  be  less  persistent,  and  resolve  to  leave  those  who 
follow  you  something  to  do,  you  would  not  cause  so  heavy 
a  drain  upon  your  vital  powers,  a  drain  which  you  may  not 
feel  now,  but  which  is  exhausting  you  slowly  but  surely. 
You  need  relaxation,  change.  A  wagon  driven  always  in 
the  same  rut  wears  the  road  away.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as 
to  wish  you  to  give  up  your  studies,  and  become  a  mere 
loiterer  in  drawing-rooms,  with  no  thought  above  the  fit  of 
your  gloves  or  the  color  of  your  neck-tie.  Even  such  a  life, 
however,  would  in  many  respects  be  preferable  to  yours,  for 
people  who  lead  it  never  lose  their  minds  at  any  rate.  Give 
yourself  a  respite  every  now  and  then.  Go  to  a  ball  occa- 
sionally, subscribe  for  a  season  at  the  opera,  take  a  run  to 
the  prairies,  or  make  yoi>r  trip  to  England,  and  your  studies 
would  be  far  more  profitable  to  yourself  and  the  world,  too, 
than  they  are  now.  Do  you  know  why  I  am  boring  you 
with  my  presence  so  long  this  evening  ?  Simply  because  I 
know  that  as  soon  as  I  am  gone  you  will  go  to  your  library 
and  write  till  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  is  so 
seldom  that  I  get  a  chance  at  you  like  this,  that  I  am  de- 
termined to  take  full  advantage  of  it." 

"Do  so,  my  dear  Lawrence,"  laughed  Severne.  "If  you 
will  promise  to  dine  with  me  every  evening  I  shall  be  per- 
fectly willing  to  forego  that  much  from  my  literary  labors. 
As  to  going  into  society  I  cannot.  I  am  unfit  for  it.  I 
know  nothing  about  the  last  fashions  in  music,  dancing,  or 
perfumery.  I  have  no  small  talk,  and  women  don't  care  for 
men  who  have  not.  Where  should  I  go  to  find  a  thoroughly 
educated  and  sensible  woman,  one  who,  without  being  a  blue, 
could  talk  intelligently  upon  something  above  crochet  and 
the  lancers  ?  I  know  there  are  such,  but  where  do  they  live  ? 
Not  in  Fifth  Avenue  to  my  knowledge.  Find  me  one,  my 
dear  fellow,  and  I  will  make  her  acquaintance  immediately." 


-.  • 
48  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  find  a  dozen  or  more,  even  in 
Fifth  Avenue,"  said  Lawrence;  "and  if  you  are  serious  in 
giving  me  a  commission  to  seek  one  for  you,  I  may  safely 
promise  that  not  many  days  will  elapse  before  you  will  be 
gratified  by  having  one  pointed  out  to  you.  But  you  must 
give  me  the  requisite  facilities,  otherwise  I  can  do  but  little. 
My  friend  Mrs.  De  Lisle  gives  a  ball  next  Thursday.  Her 
daughter  Alerta  is  a  very  pretty  and  sensible  girl,  and  there 
will  be  many  others  there  still  more  beautiful  and  intelligent. 
Leave  a  card  there  to-morrow,  and  you  will  receive  an  invi- 
tation. Let  me  manage  the  rest." 

"  Very  well,  Lawrence,  I  yield.  Have  it  as  you  will. 
You  always  conquer  me,  I  believe,  outwardly  at  least,  though 
I  seldom  change  my  opinions  in  consequence  of  your  argu- 
ments. I  am  an  obstinate,  unreasonable  fellow,  I  know,  but 
I  can't  help  it.  However,  if  not  convinced,  I,  at  any  rate, 
place  myself  in  your  hands  to  be  managed  and  shown  off  to 
the  best  advantage.  You  are  my  keeper,  and  I  promise  to 
be  as  docile  as  a  lamb  or  an  ass,  whichever  you  choose.  Will 
you  ring  that  bell  by  your  side  ?  I  feel  that  I  need  another 
cup  of  coffee  after  this  discussion.  However,  I  must  ask 
your  permission.  It  might  interfere  somewhat  with  certain 
faculties  of  my  nervous  system,  and  consequently  do  dis- 
credit to  the  high-colored  portrait  you  will  draw  of  me. 
You  must  give  me  some  idea  of  how  I  am  to  behave;  am  I 
to  be  grave  and  silent,  waiting  to  be  attacked,  or  am  I  to  be 
gay  and  voluble,  making  ray  onslaughts  with  vigor  as  soon 
as  I  get  the  cue  from  you  ?  Am  I  to  be  a  man  of  the  world, 
skilled  in  all  the  subtleties  of  human  nature,  especially  the 
nature  of  women ;  or  am  I  to  be  fresh  and  verdant,  a  stu- 
dent whose  whole  life  has  been  spent  in  meditations  in  phi- 
losophy, and  who  knows  no  more  of  actual  life  than  a  snail 
does  of  the  pragmatic  sanction  ?  Am  I  to  be  like  myself — 
a  fool,  or  ain  I  to  sail  under  false  colors  like  a  knave?  The 
fact  is,  I  shall  be  both  fool  and  knave.  Bah !  I  am  ashamed 
of  my  weakness  in  having  consented  to  such  an  unnatural 
proceeding.  I  know  how  it  will  end,  however,  and  that  is 
the  only  consolation  I  have  in  regard  to  it.  I  shall  become 
ten  times  more  firmly  set  in  my  opinions  of  the  world  than 
I  am  now.  I  shall  hate  the  sight  of  women,  with  their 
twaddle,  their  schemes,  and  their  hypocrisies,  their  silly 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  49 

laughs,  their  artful  glances,  their  conventional  exclamations, 
their  artificial  ways,  stripped  as  they  are  by  a  false  system 
of  education,  extending  from  generation  to  generation,  of 
almost  every  beautiful  attribute  of  their  intellectual  and 
physical  natures.  As  for  the  men,  imbeciles  that  they  are, 
I  cannot  despise  them  more  heartily  than  I  do  now." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Lawrence,  "what  a  tirade!  One 
would  think  you  had  just  been  jilted,  to  hear  you  talk.  My 
dear  fellow,  be  reasonable,  leave  all  to  me,  hold  me  to  a 
strict  responsibility,  and  act  like  the  true,  noble  hearted  man 
that  you  are.  Come,  drink  your  coffee  (no  more  for  me, 
thank  you),  put  on  your  hat  and  cool  your  brain  by  a  walk 
in  the  moonlight.  You  certainly  must  require  it  after  that 
ferocious  ebullition." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  Severne,  with  an  accent  of 
supreme  resignation.  "  I  am  yours,  body  and  soul.  Faust 
was  never  more  completely  sold  to  the  powers  of  evil  than  I 
am  to  you,  and,  like  Mephistophiles,  your  bribe  is  a  woman. 
That  contract,  however,  turned  out  rather  disadvantage- 
ously  for  all  concerned.  Let  us  hope  this  will  have  a  hap- 
pier termination." 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  but  the  night  was  in- 
tensely cold,  and  they  consequently  met  but  few  persons  on 
their  way  down  Fifth  Avenue.  As  they  approached  Mad- 
ison Square,  a  thin,  squalid  figure  darted  out  of  one  of  the 
cross  streets,  and  in  most  piteous  tones  begged  for  a  little 
money.  Lawrence  gave  her  a  small  piece  of  silver,  but 
Severne  looked  at  her  with  attention.  He  saw  that  she 
was  scarcely  seventeen  years  old,  that  she  was  rather  pretty, 
and  that  her  whole  appearance  betokened  the  most  abject 
poverty.  He  asked  her  several  questions,  and  then,  appar- 
ently satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  examination,  took  out 
his  purse  and  put  a  ten-dollar  gold  piece  into  her  hand. 
The  child  looked  at  it  stupidly  for  several  seconds,  as  if 
doubting  the  evidence  of  her  senses,  and  then,  stammering 
out  her  thanks,  darted  away  in  the  direction  whence  she 
had  come. 

"  That  girl  is  honest,  I  will  wager  my  life,"  said  Severne. 
"I  have  a  great  mind  to  follow  her.  Did  you  notice  with 
what  perfect  artlessness  she  answered  my  questions  ?  She 
has  trouble  at  home,  depend  upon  it,  for  the  tears  came  into 


50  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

her  eyes  when  I  asked  her  about  her  mother.  I  tell  you, 
Lawrence,  I  would  have  a  much  better  chance  of  getting  a 
good  wife  if  I  were  to  take  that  girl,  educate  her,  bring  her 
up  as  a  lady,  and  then  marry  her,  than  I  would  by  looking 
for  a  wife  in  any  of  these  grand  houses." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Lawrence,  quietly.  "A  friend  of  mine 
tried  that  once,  and  his  dear  ward  ended  the  matter  by  run- 
ning off  with  his  coachman.  The  chances  are  ten  to  one 
yours  would  do  likewise,  and  it  would  certainly  be  a  danger- 
ous experiment  for  you  to  try." 

Severne  made  no  reply,  and  at  the  next  corner  the  two 
friends  parted,  Lawrence  to  visit  a  patient  and  Severne  to 
retrace  his  steps  homeward.  He  did  so  slowly,  for  his  mind 
was  occupied  with  what  Lawrence  had  said  during  the 
evening,  and  he  was  deliberating  with  himself  as  to  the  prob- 
able termination  of  the  plan  the  latter  had  proposed,  when 
he  heard  voices  and  laughter,  and  the  next  moment  a  man 
and  woman  turned  into  the  Avenue  from  a  cross  street,  im- 
mediately in  front  of  him. 

Both  were  apparently  in  a  state  of  great  glee,  the  man 
especially,  who  kept  up  a  continued  chuckling  over  some- 
thing which  seemed  to  give  him  intense  satisfaction.  They 
were  so  close  to  Severne  that  he  heard  every  word  that  was 
said  by  either,  but  it  was  some  little  time  before  he  caught 
the  thread  of  their  conversation. 

"Well,"  said  the  man,  "that's  one  of  the  best  things  I've 
heard  for  many  a  day.  Won't  Bill  laugh  when  he  hears  it? 
My  Lord,  how  green  some  people  are  !  How  was  it,  Sal  ? 
Tell  me  again,  you  do  it  so  good.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  A  gold 
X!  Lord,  but  you  are  sharp,  Sal  1  I  guess  you  must  have 
been  to  school  on  Sunday." 

"Well,  you  see,  Jack,"  said  the  woman,  laughing  im- 
moderately, "  it  was  right  along  here  when  I  saw  two  chaps 
a  coming  down  the  street  arm-in-arm  like,  as  if  they  was 
sweethearts.  I  bad  just  started  out  on  a  lark,  because  you 
see  we  was  all  hard  up,  and  I  told  Jim  Terry  to  order  the 
drinks  and  something  hot,  ready  by  the  time  I  came  back. 
When  I  went  down  stairs,  I  just  took  off  my  petticoat," 
pinned  up  my  frock,  tied  an  old  piece  of  carpet  over  ray  head 
for  a  shawl,  and  then  you  see  I  was  all  right.  Well,  who 
should  I  see  but  the  two  coveys  as  loving  and  green  as  two 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  51 

pigeons.  I  said  to  myself,  now  I'll  get  a  half,  perhaps.  I 
went  right  up,  and  says  I,  'My  mother  is  sick,  we've  no  work, 
and  I've  had  nothing  to  eat  to-day,  please  give  me  a  little 
money.'  Well,  the  little  one — I  think  I  know  him,  and  a  good 
fellow  he  is,  too,  if  he  is  the  man — put  his  hand  at  once  into 
his  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  quarter  dollar,  which  he  gave 
me,  but  the  big  one  looked  mad-like,  and  I  thought  I  had 
waked  up  the  wrong  customer. 

"  'What's  your  name  ?'  says  he. 

'"Sarah  Tompkins,  sir,' says  I. 

"  'What's  the  matter  with  your  mother?'  says  he. 

"'Oh,  sir!'  says  I,  'she's  got  the  consumption  so  bad 
she  can't  work,  and  Mr.  Barton,  the  minister,  who  used  to 
come  to  see  her  and  bring  her  things  to  eat,  and  pray  with 
her,  is  sick  too.' 

"  '  Have  you  no  father  ?'  says  he. 

"  When  he  said  this  I  hung  down  my  head  as  if  I  were 
ashamed,  and  said  nothing. 

"  'Have  you  no  father?'  says  he  again. 

"'Oh,  yes,' says  I,  putting  my  hand  to  my  eyes,  'but 
father  is  very  unkind  to  us  all,  and  we  haven't  seen  him  for 
a  long  time.' 

"  '  Well,  well,'  says  he  ;  '  I  know  Barton.  He  is  sick  as 
you  say,  my  poor  girl,  but  you  shall  not  suffer  in  conse- 
quence.' And  then  he  took  out  his  purse  and  put  a  ten- 
dollar  gold  piece  into  my  hand. 

"  'Here,'  says  he,  'take  this.  Get  something  to  eat,  and 
I'll  see  Mr.  Barton  about  you  all,  and  send  a  physician  to 
see  your  mother.' 

"  Of  course  I  took  it  right  off.  At  first  I  thought  it  was 
a  penny,  but  it  was  too  heavy  for  that,  and  besides,  I  saw  it 
shine  in  the  light.  So  I  said  'God  bless  you,  sir!'  and  off  I 
ran  as  fast  as  I  could.  Wasn't  that  a  smart  dodge  of  mine 
about  the  preacher  ?  You  see,  I  found  out  this  morning  that 
he  was  sick  from  a  girl  in  our  street  that  goes  there  to  get 
cold  victuals.  That  settled  the  matter  with  my  cove.  He 
thought  he  was  mighty  smart,  but  I  guess  Sal  Tompkins  is 
as  sharp  as  any  of  them." 

"  Smart !  Lord  bless  you,  Sal,  I  should  think  ycu  was," 
said  the  man.  "  But  won't  we  have  a  jolly  time  of  it  ?  Who's 
going  to  be  there,  Sal  ?" 


52  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"  Well,  Jim  Terry — that's  my  man  you  know,  Jack — and 
Bill  and  you  and  the  Dumpling  and  Betsy  and " 

Severne  wished  to  hear  no  more,  and  therefore  slackened 
his  pace  till  the  two  had  passed  far  up  the  street  out  of  ear- . 
shot.  He  was  mortified  that  he  who  prided  himself  on  his 
penetration  should  have  been  so  easily  deceived  by  the 
transparent  piece  of  deceit  that  had  been  practiced  upon 
him. 

"  It  will  only  serve  to  put  me  on  my  guard  against  more 
refined  and  therefore  more  dangerous  deceptions,"  he 
thought,  as  he  entered  his  house.  "And  if  it  does  that, 
the  lesson  will  be  a  thousand  times  worth  the  cost.  The 
young  hussy,  to  think  that  she  should  have  humbugged  me 
so  easily !  I,  who  have  run  the  gantlet  of  the  most  scientific 
beggars  of  the  world,  to  be  taken  in  at  my  time  of  life  by  a 
child  like  that !  Falsehood  and  deceit  on  every  side,"  he 
continued,  as  he  entered  his  library — "everywhere  but  here. 
Here  at  least  nothing  passes  for  more  than  it  is  worth. 
And  here  I  almost  feel  as  though  I  would  be  content  to  pass 
every  hour  of  the  life  that  remains  to  me." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  WHICH  THE  READER  IS  MADE  ACQUAINTED  WITH  SOME  OF 
SEVERNE'S  THOUGHTS  AND  DESIGNS. 

• 

NEW-YEAR'S  DAY  had  come  and  gone.  Goodall  had  dined' 
with  John  Holmes  and  Margaret,  and  had  told  the  whole 
story  of  Mother  Piggot,  who,  rather  than  allow  her  little 
granddaughter  to  be  burned  as  a  witch,  had  voluntarily 
confessed  herself  to  be  in  league  with  the  devil,  and  to  have 
inflicted  all  the  torments  upon  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  vil- 
lage which  had  been  ascribed  to  little  Susan,  a  bright,  blue- 
eyed  child,  over  whose  head  but  twelve  summers  had  passed. 
Mother  Piggot  was  seventy  years  old,  gray-haired,  wrinkled, 
and  toothless.  Yet  she  had  a  noble  and  a  self-sacrificing 
spirit  in  her  decrepit  body,  so  she  resolved  to  save  her  little 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  53 

grandchild,  with  the  certainty  of  being  deprived  of  her  life 
for  being  a  witch,  and  the  risk  of  losing  her  sonl  for  telling 
a  lie.  The  place  on  her  body  which  the  devil  had  touched 
when  he  made  his  covenant  with  her  was  found ;  pins  and 
needles  were  stuck  into  it,  and  she  did  not  wince.  Of  course, 
therefore,  she  was  a  witch,  and  so  she  was  burned  at  the 
stake.  "  O  man,  man  !  to  what  a  pitch  will  not  thy  folly 
and  stupidity  carry  thee !"  Little  Susan  Piggot  was  left 
homeless  and  friendless.  However,  after  many  trials  and 
troubles  she  did  very  well  in  the  world,  and  had  numerous 
descendants,  among  whom,  to  his  great  pride,  was  Groodall 
himself. 

Mrs.  De  Lisle's  ball  had  taken  place,  and  Severne  had  so 
far  yielded  to  Lawrence's  entreaties  as  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion sent  him.  It  had  passed,  however,  wearily  enough  for 
him,  and  left  him  tenfold  more  disgusted  with  life,  especially 
the  fashionable  life  he  saw  there,  with  its  pretensions,  its  in- 
anities, and  its  ridiculous  assumptions,  than  he  had  been  be- 
fore for  many  a  year. 

^Ie  had  kept  to  himself  the  knowledge  he  had  acquired 
from  Miss  Sarah  Tompkins  relative  to  the  swindle  she  had 
successfully  practiced  upon  him.  In  the  first  place,  it  would 
not  have  been  pleasant  to  expose  what  he  could  not  but 
regard  as  an  act  of  weakness,  even  to  so  intimate  a  friend 
as  Lawrence,  and  in  the  second,  he  was  considering  in  his 
own  mind  the  expediency  of  endeavoring  to  obtain  a  further 
insight  into  that  young  woman's  character  and  associa- 
tions. 

The  more  he  reflected  upon  the  matter,  the  more  attrac- 
tive it  became.  That  this  young  girl  was  hopelessly  de- 
praved, he  did  not  believe.  To  find  oat  and  to  develop  the 
good  that  was  in  her;  to  subdue,  if  not  altogether  eradicate 
the  evil ;  to  educate  her  mind  to  a  knowledge  of  those  things 
that  ennoble  the  soul ;  to  kindle  into  a  flame  that  latent 
spark  of  divinity  which  God  has  implanted  in  the  breasts  of 
all  mankind, — this  were  indeed  a  task  worthy  of  him :  an 
object  to  which  he  could  devote  his  energies  with  unchanging 
ardor  until  the  end  should  be  reached,  and  he  should  find 
his  reward  in  the  consciousness  that  he  had  been  the  means 
of  redeeming  a  fellow-mortal  from  a  life  of  ignorance  and 
crime. 

6 


54  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

What  was  there  in  life  to  promise  him  half  the  pleasure 
that  the  contemplation  of  this  measure  unfolded  ?  What 
joy  could  equal  that  to  be  derived  from  watching,  day  after 
day,  the  growth  of  new  feelings,  the  awakening  of  new 
thoughts,  the  springing  up  of  emotions  which  had  never  yet 
been  excited,  the  birth  and  expansion  of  all  that  was  lovely, 
the  destruction  of  all  that  was  vile,  and  to  feel  that  it  was  his 
work  ?  There  was  happiness  in  all  this;  there  was  a  pur- 
pose to  be  accomplished,  one  that  would  engage  his  best 
thoughts  for  years  to  come,  and  which  of  itself  would  ex- 
pand his  contracted  heart  and  light  up  again  the  hopes 
which  long  years  of  disappointment  had  well-nigh  crushed 
out. 

He  might  fail,  however,  and  it  were  well  to  consider  the 
subject  from  this  point  of  view.  That  this  young  woman's 
associations  had  been  and  were  of  the  lowest  kind,  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  That  she  was  bold,  brazen-faced,  im- 
modest, unchaste,  false,  ignorant, — in  short,  so  low  in  the 
social  and  moral  scale  of  humanity,  that  even  he,  with  all 
his  worldly  experience,  could  scarcely  conceive  of  any  lower 
grade,  he  had  the  evidence  of  his  senses  to  prove.  Through 
the  precocious  development  of  the  worst  impulses  of  human 
nature,  she  had  become  so  debased  that  the  difficulty  of 
bringing  her  to  virtue  would  prove  almost  insurmountable. 
There  would  doubtless  also  be  trouble  in  getting  her  to  ac- 
cede to  his  wishes.  The  paths  of  vice  are  often  as  pleasant 
as  those  of  virtue,  and  this  young  woman  was  probably  very 
well  contented  with  her  lot.  Why  then  should  he,  for  the 
g»atification  of  what  was  in  a  great  measure  a  selfish  wish, 
seek  to  induce  her  to  undertake  the  drudgery  and  submit  to 
the  restraint  inseparable  from  her  novitiate  in  the  new  life 
to  which  he  contemplated  introducing  her  ?  If  it  had  been 
altogether  a  matter  of  self-gratification,  Severne  would  have 
abandoned  it  at  once,  but  with  every  disposition  to  regard 
his  own  predilections  with  the  most  complete  impartiality,  he 
at  the  same  time  was  forced  to  admit  that,  entirely  aside  from 
any  pleasure  he  might  derive  from  the  success  of  his  plans, 
he  should  be  doing  a  good  service  to  one  of  God's  creatures. 
Severne  had  very  high  ideas  relative  to  his  duties  to  his 
fellow-beings.  He  was  perhaps  not  what  the  world  calls  a 
philanthropist.  He  would  have  declined  giving  a  contribu- 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  55 

tion  toward  translating  sectarian  tracts  into  the  Timbuctoo 
language ;  bat  the  misery,  the  want,  and  the  ignorance  which 
he  saw  on  all  sides,  he  was  always  ready  to  alleviate  by 
every  means  in  his  power. 

Thought  with  Severne  always  led  to  definite  results,  and 
that  too  without  delay.  The  more  he  pondered  in  his  mind 
his  schemes  relative  to  Sarah  Tompkins,  the  more  he  was 
pleased  with  them.  He  had  not  considered  the  subject 
more  than  a  few  hours  before  he  had  formed  the  resolution 
of  at  once  making  the  attempt  to  reclaim  that  young  woman, 
from  her  evil  ways,  and  the  next  thing,  therefore,  was  to 
devise  a  plan  for  getting  her  within  the  range  of  his  influ- 
ence. This  was  a  matter  which  really  required  more  con- 
sideration than  the  first,  and  he  did  not  as  yet  feel  himself 
at  all  qualified  to  deal  with  it  to  the  best  advantage.  He 
had  no  difficulty  in  arriving  at  the  determination  to  conduct 
in  person  all  his  negotiations  with  Sarah ;  but  how  to  find 
her,  was  a  question  he  was  not  prepared  to  answer.  How- 
ever, he  set  about  the  task  with  a  good  deal  of  energy. 
The  little  beggar  girl,  from  whom  Sarah  had  obtained  the 
information  that  Mr.  Barton,  the  clergyman,  was  sick,  had 
not  made  her  appearance  at  the  house  of  the  latter  for 
several  days,  but  Severne  left  word  that  when  she  came 
again,  she  was  to  be  brought  to  him  at  once.  Day  after 
day  passed,  however,  without  any  intelligence.  In  all  his 
walks  and  drives,  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for  the  young 
woman  he  was  in  search  of,  but  he  never  obtained  so  much 
as  a  glimpse  of  her.  He  always  had  the  alternative  of  the 
police  to  resort  to,  but  this  was  reserved  till  other  means 
should  be  clearly  proved  to  be  ineffectual,  as  he  had  a  great 
repugnance  to  asking  the  aid  of  these  gentry  in  an  affair 
which,  for  the  present  at  least,  he  was  desirous  of  keeping 
as  quiet  as  possible.  Without  therefore  abandoning  his 
purpose  or  relaxing  his  personal  efforts  in  the  search  which 
he  daily  made  in  localities  likely  to  be  frequented  by  such 
characters  as  the  one  he  was  so  anxious  to  find,  he  betook 
himself  with  renewed  diligence  to  his  literary  labors. 

The  work  to  which  Severne  devoted  himself  was  of  a 
kind  demanding  most  intense  thought  and  the  most  con- 
stant application.  A  train  of  reasoning  once  entered  upon, 
could  not  be  interrupted  without  detracting  from  the  unity 


56  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

of  design  and  thoroughness  of  execution  which  he  was  de- 
sirous of  making  prominent  features  in  the  new  system  of 
philosophy  he  was  constructing ;  many  of  his  ideas  required 
demonstration  of  their  correctness,  and  hence  difficult  and 
delicate  experiments  were  necessitated.  Severne  never  did 
anything  by  halves.  A  subject  which  he  undertook  to  in- 
vestigate was  always  pursued  with  a  degree  of  ardor  and 
perseverance  which  was  truly  astonishing.  No  part  of  it 
was  left  untouched,  no  source  from'which  it  was  possible  to 
gain  information  was  unheeded.  He  not  only  made  himself 
acquainted  with  what  others  had  done,  but  he  went  over 
the  ground  for  himself,  followed  their  reasonings,  repeated 
their  experiments,  modified  and  extended  their  researches, 
and  struck  out  many  paths  which  led  to  new  and  often  un- 
looked-for discoveries. 

It  was  not  without  cause,  therefore,  that  Lawrence  had 
admonished  him  to  be  less  studious — less  persistent  in  the 
one  direction  to  which  his  labors  led.  His  friend  knew  well 
the  danger  attending  long-continued  concentration  of  the 
mind  upon  one  line  of  thought ;  how  the  brain,  feeding  as 
it  were  upon  the  products  of  its  own  decay,  wears  itself 
away  little  by  little,  but  with  awful  certainty,  till  either  no- 
thing but  the  shadow  of  its  pristine  greatness  remains,  or 
else,  the  reason,  utterly  breaking  dowa,  finally  becomes  ex- 
tinguished in  a  condition  of  hopeless  insanity. 

Nor  was  Severne  disposed  to  question  Lawrence's  argu- 
ments. He  knew  they  were  correct ;  but,  like  others  who 
have  their  hearts  in  their  labors,  he  was  not  to  be  easily 
diverted  from  them.  Probably  no  inducement,  based  upon 
purely  personal  considerations,  would  have  proved  strong 
enough  to  cause  him  to  change  his  mode  of  life.  The  episode 
of  Sarah  Tompkins  had  therefore  been  doubly  beneficial. 
It  had  reawakened  emotions  which  had  slept  for  years,  and 
it  had  in  a  measure  been  the  means  of  abstracting  his 
thoughts  from  subjects  to  which,  with  almost  unceasing 
resoluteness,  they  had  been  devoted. 

But  the  relaxation  was  not  of  long  continuance,  and, 
though  he  every  day  for  an  hour  before  dinner  continued 
his  search  for  Sarah,  he  more  than  made  up  for  this  slight 
respite  by  extending  his  studies  further  into  the  night.  Hav- 
ing arrived  at  a  decision  relative  to  his  course  toward  that 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  5t 

young  woman,  he  ceased  to  occupy  his  mind  to  any  great 
extent  in  regard  to  her  or  her  future  life.  What  he  did  in 
the  way  of  endeavoring  to  find  her,  was  a  mere  mechanical 
fulfillment  of  his  views  so  far  as  he  was  then  able  to  fulfill 
them.  He  had  no  doubt  in  his  mind  but  that  he  would  ere 
long  meet  with  her,  and,  until  that  event  occurred,  he  had 
no  wish  to  change  the  great  current  of  his  thoughts.  There 
were  occasionally  moments  of  uneasiness  and  of  irresolu- 
tion— as  there  are  in  the  lives  of  the  most  devoted  students — 
but  they  were  only  moments,  and  were  as  nothing  in  the 
long  hours  he  gave  to  the  studies  which  had  for  years  en- 
grossed so  large  a  proportion  of  his  mental  energies.  No- 
thing would  have  persuaded  him  to  give  them  up  altogether; 
but  had  he  been  successful  in  finding  Sarah  Tompkins  when 
he  first  conceived  the  plan  which,  in  its  freshness,  had  seemed 
to  him  so  attractive,  it  is  very  probable  the  time  given 
to  his  philosophical  pursuits  would  have  been  materially 
abridged.  As  it  was,  he  was  becoming  more  and  more  ab- 
sorbed in  them.  Day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  found 
him  in  his  library  or  laboratory,  working  at  those  problems 
which  have  engaged  .the  attention  of  the  mightiest  intellects 
the  world  has  ever  seen,  and  which  even  yet  are  apparently 
as  far  from  solution  as  when,  ages  ago,  man  emerged  from 
barbarism  and  began  to  inquire  into  the  laws  which  govern 
his  intellectual  and  physical  existence. 

Never  before  had  Severne  labored  with  so  much  ardor; 
and  at  last  he  began  to  show  evidences  of  the  state  of  body 
and  mind  which  Lawrence  had  predicted  with  so  much  posi- 
tiveness.  The  latter  urged  him  with  renewed  earnestness 
to  abate  a  little  in  his  zeal ;  but  he  might  as  well  have  ad- 
dressed his  arguments  to  the  wind,  for  Severne  was  not  in 
the  slightest  degree  influenced  by  them.  He  still  continued 
a  passive  search  for  Sarah  Tompkins,  but  it  was  more  be- 
cause he  felt  that  his  faith  was  pledged  to  find  her,  and  to 
give  her  the  opportunity  of  rising  in  the  world,  than  from 
any  particular  interest  he  took  in  her. 

Both  Severne  and  Lawrence  were  frequenters  of  John 
Holmes's  book-shop,  and  held  this  worthy  old  gentleman, 
and  his  coadjutor  Groodall,  in  high  estimation.  Before 
Severne  had  become  so  deeply  enraptured  with  his  studies 
as  at  the  period  he  is  introduced  to  the  reader,  it  was  his 

6* 


58  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

daily  custom  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  in  "the  den,"  to  which 
place  Lawrence  also  usually  repaired  about  the  same  time. 
Latterly,  however,  he  had  become  less  regular  in  his  attend- 
ance, and  although  he  did  not  altogether  discontinue  his 
visits,  it  was  evident  that  his  attention  was  given  to  other 
pursuits,  from  which  he  could  not  divert  it.  Neither  Holmes 
nor  Goodall,  however,  gave  themselves  any  uneasiness  on 
this  score.  They  knew  that  Severne  was  a  hard  student, 
and  being  students  themselves,  they  were  able  not  only  to 
excuse  his  apparent  neglect,  but  even  to  feel  proud  of  the 
devotion  he  manifested,  and  which  they  had  so  largely  aided 
in  exciting  and  continuing,  by  furnishing  much  of  the  ma- 
terial by  which  it  was  kept  alive. 

One  morning,  as  John  Holmes  sat  at  his  table  busily  writ- 
ing on  the  little  half  sheets  of  paper  which  nearly  covered  it, 
Goodall  came  to  the  door  of  "  the  den,"  with  an  open  note 
in  his  hand. 

"  Here  is  an  order,"  he  said,  "for  some  twenty  or  more 
books  from  Mr.  Severne,  not  one  of  which  we  have  in  the 
shop.  We  shall  have  to  procure  them  all  from  Europe,  and 
I  fear  there  are  several  which,  from  their  great  rarity,  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  obtain." 

"Twenty  books,  and  not  one  of  them  on  hand!"  ex- 
claimed John  Holmes  ;  "  I  scarcely  thought,  Goodall,  that 
we  should  be  caught  in  this  way.  Let  me  see  the  order." 

"There  is  not  a  bookseller  in  the  world  who  has  a  third 
of  these  books  in  his  stock,"  replied  Goodall,  as  he  handed 
the  note  to  his  senior.  "Mr.  Severne  knows  too  much  about 
books  to  order  those  which  caunot  be  had  at  all ;  but  if  he 
had  deliberately  set  out  to  make  a  list  of  twenty  books 
which  it  is  possible  to  find  for  sale,  and  yet  are  extraor- 
dinarily scarce,  he  could  not  have  succeeded  better  than  he 
has  in  this  instance." 

"Why,  what  can  the  man  be  thinking  of!"  exclaimed  John 
Holmes,  as  he  looked  over  the  list.  "I  never  heard  of  any 
of  these  books  except  Camfield's  Theological  Discourse  of 
Angels.  I  am  afraid  Severne  is  perpetrating  a  joke  on  us 
a  la  Count  de  Portias.  If  he  collected  books  from  any 
bibliomaniacal  propensity,  I  should  not  be  astonished  at  his 
wishing  to  obtain  such  rarities  and  out-of-the-way  produc- 
tions ;  but  I  have  often  heard  him  say,  he  only  bought  books 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  59 

for  use,  and  if  that  is  his  principle,  I  cannot  conceive  what 
benefit  he  can  derive  from  some  of  these.  Magic,  secret 
poisoning,  hallucinations,  and  such  trash,  are  not  very  edi- 
fying subjects  in  these  days." 

"  Mr.  Severne  wants  to  use  them  at  once,  he  says,"  re- 
marked Goodall.  "There  are  three  of  them  which  I  have 
in  my  private  collection,  and  which  I  will  lend  him  with 
pleasure;  but  he  will  be  obliged  to  wait  some  time  for  the 
others.  I  do  not  see  anything  strange  in  his  wanting  these 
books.  You  know  he  is  writing  a  New  System  of  Philos- 
ophy, and  with  his  usual  thoroughness  he  is  desirous  of 
covering  the  whole  ground." 

"No;  I  did  not  know  anything  of  the  kind.  How  was 
I  to  know  it?  He  comes  here  now  so  very  seldom,  and  is 
so  uncommunicative,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  form  an 
idea  in  regard  to  the  present  direction  of  his  studies.  I 
knew  a  year  ago  that  he  was  deep  in  philosophy,  but  I 
thought  he  had  finished  that  long  since." 

"  No ;  he  is  carrying  his  labors  far  beyond  the  point  he  at 
first  contemplated,  and  has  even  yet  a  task  before  him  which 
would  appall  most  literary  men.  But  he  is  so  assiduous  that 
I  am  very  sure  he  will  complete  his  project,  and  that  we 
shall,  in  the  result  of  his  labors,  possess  a  rich  mine  of 
thought  and  information." 

Scarcely  had  Goodall  uttered  the  last  words  when  he 
heard  the  door  of  the  shop  opened  and  gently  closed,  and  a 
soft  step  approaching  "the  den."  It  was  not  often  that 
women  came  to  the  old  place.  The  books  which  were  kept 
there  were  not  of  a  character  to  interest  the  sex.  A  few 
there  were  who  knew  all  about  the  shop;  where  the  Elzevirs, 
the  Aldines,  and  the  Pickerings  were  to  be  found  ;  who 
could  talk  learnedly  of  Plato,  Spinoza,  and  Stewart;  who 
read  the  Lusiad  in  the  original,  and  sympathized  with  Urban 
Grandier  in  good  French ;  but  they  were  few,  and  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  lamentable  though  it  be,  of  scrawny  figures, 
scraggy  necks,  orange  complexions,  and  not  over-young. 
Why  is  it  that  so  few  pretty  women  delight  in  literature  ? 
What  is  there  incompatible  between  beauty  and  learning  ? 
Here  is  a  subject  worthy  of  the  profound  attention  of  the 
psychologist  and  the  physiologist.  Ill-natured  and  ignorant 
men  might  say  that  only  those  women  who  have  learned  by 


60  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

experience  that  they  are  not  sufficiently  beautiful  to  com- 
mand the  attentions  of  the  sterner  sex  take  to  books.  But  this 
is  not  the  true  reason.  Facts  do  not  sustain  it.  Sensible  men 
do  not  regard  mere  beauty  in  a  woman  as  the  one  attractive 
feature.  A  truer  explanation  may  be  found  in  the  circum- 
stance that  nature  very  seldom  so  highly  favors  her  creatures 
as  to  endow  them  with  both  personal  beauty  and  a  love 
for  learning.  She  sometimes  ventures  on  the  combination, 
and  then  those  whom  she  thus  befriends,  be  they  men  or 
women,  are  irresistible. 

Goodall,  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  light  step  and  the  mu- 
sical and  measured  rustle  of  a  silk  dress,  looked  into  the 
dismal  shop  with  a  brighter  face  than  he  had  exhibited  that 
morning.  No  woman  who  visited  the  shop  trod  with  so 
firm,  so  gentle,  so  youthful  a  gait  as  Margaret  Leslie.  Be- 
fore he  could  do  more  than  advance  a  few  paces  toward  her, 
she  was  close  enough  to  give  him  her  little  hand. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Margaret,"  said  Goodall,  "it  is  not 
often  we  see  you  down  here.  If  we  did,  we  should  be 
obliged  to  remodel  the  old  place  and  make  it  more  suitable 
for  so  charming  a  visitor." 

"  So  you  think  I  am  really  a  charming  visitor,  do  you,  Mr. 
Goodall?"  said  Margaret,  smiling.  "Do  you  know,  I  think 
you  are  trying  to  bribe  me  into  coming  here  more  frequently! 
Now,  if  you  would  only  make  half  a  dozen  windows  in  that 
long  wall,  whitewash  the  ceiling,  clean  the  paint,  and  dust 
the  books,  perhaps  I  might  be  induced  to  pay  you  a  daily 
visit.  But  I  heard  you  talking  to  grandpapa  as  I  came  in; 
I  want  to  speak  with  him  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  I  am 
coming  to  get  a  book  from  you." 

John  Holmes  met  Margaret  at  the  door  of  "the  den," 
his  face  radiant  with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  beautiful 
and  joyous  girl  who  was  so  dear  to  him.  It  was  not  often 
that  she  came  to  the  shop,  for  it  was  a  long  way  "down 
town,"  and  the  journey  involved  no  small  risk  of  life  or  limb 
in  treading  the  narrow  and  crowded  thoroughfares  which 
led  to  it.  John  Holmes  knew,  therefore,  that  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  importance  which  brought  her  to  see  him  that  morn- 
ing, and  after  greeting  her  with  his  warm-hearted  manner, 
and  leading  her  to  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  he  awaited  with  some 
anxiety  the  disclosure  of  the  object  of  her  visit. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  61 

Margaret  did  not  allow  him  to  remain  long  in  suspense. 

"Dear  grandpapa,"  she  said,  still  letting  her  hand  rest  in 
his,  "  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  overanxious  or  not,  but 
I  cannot  help  fearing  that  you  will  be  very  much  incon- 
venienced by  what  has  happened  this  morning.  I  thought 
it  best,  however,  to  inform  you  at  once  of  all  that  has  oc- 
curred, because  the  mischief  may  not  be  irreparable.  It  is 
my  fault,  too,  which  of  course  does  not  make  it  any  better." 

John  Holmes  felt  a  pang  shoot  through  his  breast  while 
Margaret  was  speaking;  his  first  idea  was  that  her  father 
had  made  his  appearance  again  at  the  house,  but  this  was 
dissipated  as  he  observed  Margaret's  feeling  to  be  rather  one 
of  annoyance  than  of  apprehension. 

"I  hope,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  "that  whatever  has  hap- 
pened has  not  distressed  you.  As  for  me,  I  am  too  old  and 
hardened  to  be  much  affected  by  any  ordinary  trouble." 

"I  am  annoyed  on  your  account,  dear  grandpapa,  and 
vexed  at  myself.  I  went  into  your  laboratory  after  break- 
fast, a  place  into  which,  as  you  know,  I  rarely  venture,  and 
seeing  a  flask  containing  a  liquid  of  the  most  beautiful  pur- 
ple color,  I  took  it  up  to  examine  it  more  closely,  when  to 
my  great  surprise  it  suddenly  became  perfectly  solid.  I  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of -the  transformation;  but  Joshua 
said  I  had  destroyed  the  labor  of  two  years,  and  made  me 
feel  so  badly  about  it  that  I  came  down  to  tell  you  of  my 
meddlesomeness.  I  hope,  dear  grandpapa,  it  is  not  so  bad 
as  that." 

"And  is  that  all  you  have  to  worry  you,  my  darling  ?" 

"Yes,  grandpapa,  that  is  all,  and  if  I  have  made  your 
work  of  two  years  fruitless,  as  Joshua  said,  I  am  sure  it  is 
enough." 

"Joshua  is  an  ass ;  what  business  had  he  to  tell  you  any 
such  nonsense?" 

"  He  is  very  much  distressed,  dear  grandpapa.  He  sat 
down  on  the  floor  and  cried  and  muttered  over  the  mishap 
for  an  hour  and  more.  You  know  he  is  almost  as  much 
interested  in  the  laboratory  as  you  are." 

"  Poor  Joshua !"  said  John  Holmes,  musingly;  "he  is  very 
faithful  and  very  devoted.  But  give  yourself  no  uneasiness, 
my  darling;  the  accident  is  not  irreparable,  nor  even  very 
serious.  If  anybody  else  had  done  it  but  you,"  he  contin- 


62  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

ued,  smiling,  "  I  might  have  been  somewhat  irritated ;  bat 
what  could  make  me  angry  with  my  dear  child?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  forgive  me !"  said  Margaret,  put- 
ting her  arms  around  his  neck;  "I  will  never  again  touch 
anything-in  the  laboratory,  or  even  go  into  it,  unless  you  are 
there.  You  know,  dear  grandpapa,  that  I  am  sorry,  very 
sorry,  and  if  I  could  do  anything  to  atone  for  my  thought- 
lessness I  would  do  it  at  once." 

"Then  never  open  your  lips  upon  the  subject  again,"  said 
John  Holmes,  kissing  her  forehead,  and  thus  deranging  her 
coiffure,  which  was  as  pretty  and  tasteful  a  piece  of  hair- 
dressiig  as  one  would  wish  to  see.  "All  will  soon  be  right. 
Why,  if  you  were  to  destroy  the  whole  laboratory  and  all 
its  contents,  instead  of  merely  hastening  the  crystallization 
of  one  of  my  solutions,  I  should  not  mind  it  a  very  great 
deal." 

"But  if  you  go  on  destroying  my  bonnet,  I  shall  mind  it 
a  great  deal,  for  I  am  not  so  generous  as  you  are,"  said 
Margaret,  smiling,  and  laying  her  face  against  his.  "  Of  what 
importance  is  a  whole  chemical  laboratory  compared  to  a 
bonnet  ?  You  see,  dear  grandpapa,"  she  continued,  earnestly, 
"that  you  have  made  me  very  happy  again.  I  know  that 
I  have  disarranged  and  retarded  your  studies,  but  I  also 
know  that  I  should  give  you  real  pain  if  I  did  not  accept 
your  forgiveness  as  freely  as  you  offer  it.  Now  I  shall 
never  say  anything  more  about  it,  but  you  will  not  therefore 
think  that  I  am  not  truly  sorry  for  my  heedless  act,  or  inca- 
pable of  appreciating  the  kindness  which  makes  you  under- 
estimate the  extent  of  my  mischief." 

"And  is  there  nothing  else  I  can  do  for  my  darling  ?" 
said  John  Holmes.  "It  seems  a  great  pity  that  you  should 
come  all  the  way  down  here  through  dirty  streets  and 
money-making  men  for  such  a  trifle.  By-the-by,  talking  of 
money.  How  are  your  own  finances?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  as  rich  as  I  want  to  be,"  replied  Margaret.  "  I 
have  only  spent  half  of  the  hundred  dollars  you  gave  me 
last  month.  If  it  were  not  for  the  few  deserving  people 
whom  I  am  able  to  assist,  I  should  never  be  able  to  get 
through  my  allowance.  I  think  I  must  have  over  sixty 
dollars  in  my  porte-monnaie."  ' 

As  Margaret  spoke  these  last  words,  she  put  her  hand 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  63 

into  her  pocket  and  felt  for  her  porte-monnaie  to  show 
her  grandfather  how  much  money  she  had ;  to  her  surprise 
it  was  not  to  be  found.  "I  am  afraid  I  have  lost  it,"  she 
continued;  "but  I  do  not  see  how  that  can  be,  for  I  cer- 
tainly had  it  a  few  minutes  ago.  A  young  woman  asked 
me  for  a  little  money  for  her  sick  mother  just  as  I  reached 
the  door,  and  I  took  it  out  and  gave  her  a  half  dollar.  I 
recollect  distinctly  putting  it  back  into  my  pocket,  but  it 
must  have  slipped  out  of  my  hand  in  some  way  or  other." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  John  Holmes,  smiling,  "the  prob- 
ability is  that  the  young  woman  whose  imaginary  necessities 
or  those  of  her  fictitious  mother  you  relieved,  seeing  that 
you  had  a  well-filled  purse,  picked  your  pocket  of  it." 

"Oh,  grandpapa,  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  of  her;  she 
had  such  a  good  face  and  looked  so  sick  and  miserable  that 
I  asked  her  where  her  mother  lived,  for  I  intended  to  go 
and  see  her  and  do  what  I  could  to  relieve  her  wants.  Do 
you  think  the  girl,  who  was  not  older  than  I  am,  could 
have  been  so  wicked  as  to  steal  my  pocket-book,  and  yet 
look  so  honest,  too  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  my  dear  child.  Perhaps  I  wrong  her; 
but  there  is  so  much  precocious  depravity  in  a  large  city 
that  it  makes  ns  wary  of  all  young  beggars.  Did  she  tell 
you  where  she  lived?" 

"  Yes,  she  gave  me  her  direction.  Dobbin's  Court,  Bax- 
ter Street,  and  told  me  her  name  was  Sarah  Tompkins." 

"  I  will  send  Thomas  to  ascertain  if  any  such  persons 
live  there,  and  to  make  inquiries  about  your  pocket-book. 
The  latter  is  almost  a  useless  undertaking,  however.  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  send  a  policeman  with  him." 

"  Oh,  do  not,  dear  grandpapa.  At  least  not  yet.  Let 
Thomas  go  first  and  find  out  what  sort  of  people  they  are, 
and  whether  or  not  she  told  me  the  truth  about  her 
mother." 

"Very  well,  my  dear  Margaret,  it  shall  be  just  as  you 
wish ;  and  as  you  are  now  bankrupt,  you  must  take  this  to 
aid  in  repairing  your  broken  fortunes."  With  which  remark, 
John  Holmes  took  from  his  pocket-book  a  hundred  dollar 
note  and  put  it  into  Margaret's  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  grandpapa,"  she  said.  "  I  think  I 
have  had  a  great  deal  of  conceit  taken  out  of  me  by  my 


64  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

day's  proceedings ;  and  now  good-by  till  dinner.  Do  not 
forget  to  send  Thomas  to  Dobbin's  Court  in  time  for  you 
to  tell  me  all  about  his  discoveries  when  you  come  home." 
And  then,  declining  the  carriage  which  her  grandfather  was 
anxious  to  send  for,  Margaret  went  into  the  shop,  and  after 
getting  the  book  she  wanted  from  Goodall,  passed  into  the 
busy  throng  in  the  street.  She  had  scarcely  got  out  on  the 
pavement,  when  a  gentleman,  whom  she  did  not  know,  but 
who  regarded  her  with  a  very  anxious  and  with  as  much  of 
an  admiring  look  as  was  respectful,  made  way  for  her,  and 
passing  by  her,  entered  the  door  she  had  just  closed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    MEETING    OF    MARGARET    AND    SARAH,    AND    THE    EFFECT    UPON 
THE    LATTER. 

MARGARET  cast  a  glance  toward  the  spot  where  she  stood 
when  our  young  friend  Sarah  Tompkins  asked  her  for 
money.  Of  course  her  pocket-book  was  not  there  ;  at  least 
a  thousand  people  had  passed  in  the  hour  that  had  elapsed, 
and  even  if  she  had  dropped  it,  some  one,  whether  honest  or 
.dishonest,  had  'picked  it  up.  If  the  former,  it  would  be  ad- 
vertised ;  if  the  latter,  it  was  vain  to  expect  it  to  be  re- 
turned. 

She  had  not  gone  far,  when  a  voice  by  her  side  said  : 
"  Will  you  let  me  speak  to  you  for  a  moment  ?" 
She  knew  it  in  an  instant,  and  turning,  saw,  as  she  ex- 
pected, Sarah  Tompkins;  but  looking  even  more  miserable 
than  when  she  had  first  accosted  her. 

"  I  cannot  say  all  I  want  to  say  here  in  the  street,"  con- 
tinued Sarah,  "  and  it  does  not  look  well  for  a  young  lady 
like  you  to  be  seen  walking  with  one  of  my  kind.  I've  been 
waiting  for  you  to  give  you  your  pocket-book  which  I  stole 
from  you.  Here  it  is,  with  all  the  money,  just  as  it  was." 
So  saying,  Sarah  placed  the  porte-monnaie  in  Margaret's 
hand. 


ROBERT   SBVERNE.  65 

"And  did  you  really  take  it?"  said  Margaret,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"  Yes  ;  I  took  it  out  of  your  pocket." 

"You  must  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Margaret.  "Per- 
haps this  is  the  first  time  you  have  done  such  a  thing." 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  first,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third.  I 
am  a  very  bad  girl,  I  know,  but  I  am  not  bad  enough  to  do 
you  an  injury  in  cold  blood." 

"  Why  did  you  bring  my  pocket-book  back  to  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it  was  because  you  spoke 
kindly  to  me,  and  are  so  beautiful.  It  was  not  that  alto- 
gether, either,  for  others  before  you  have  been  kind,  but  I 
never  felt  as  I  did  when  I  found  your  pocket-book  in  my 
hand.  It  seemed  as  if  I  was  holding  a  coal  of  fire." 

"I  am  not  ashamed  to  be  seen  with  you.  Walk  with  me 
a  little  farther,  and  tell  me  something  more  about  yourself. 
I  cannot  think  you  are  as  bad  as  you  represent  yourself 
to  be.  Have  you  never  felt  sorry  before  when  you  have 
taken  what  was  not  yours  ?" 

"Never." 

"  Is  your  mother  sick,  as  you  told  me  this  morning  ?" 

"I  have  no  mother." 

"  Do  you  not  live  in  Dobbin's  Court,  Baxter  Street?" 

"No." 

"All  false  ?" 

"All  lies." 

"And  yet,  Sarah,  you  do  not  look  like  a  bad  girl." 

"  Then  my  face  lies  as  well  as  my  tongue." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  you  really  do  live,  so  that  I  can 
come  and  see  you  ?  Perhaps  I  can  do  something  for  you. 
I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  giving  me  my  pocket- 
book  again.  I  am  sure  you  must  be  very  poor  or  you  would 
not  have  taken  it." 

Sarah  hesitated.  She  knew  that  her  home — if  the  house 
she  lived  in  deserved  so  holy  a  name — was  not  one  that 
Margaret  could  come  to.  But  though  hardened  in  vice, 
Sarah  had  a  warm  and  generous  heart,  and  as  she  looked 
into  her  companion's  face,  and  met  her  kind  and  sympathiz- 
ing expression,  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"You  must  not  come  to  where  I  live,"  she  said,  with 
emotion.  "It  is  not  a  fit  place  for  one  like  you;  but  if  you 


66  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

will  let  me,  I  will  come  to  you.  You  are  very  good  to  me, 
and  some  day  I  may  he  able  to  serve  you.  Whenever  you 
want  to  see  me,  send  a  note  to  Sarah  Tompkins,  at  110 
Wayne  Street,  but  do  not  come  yourself." 

"  Have  you  no  brothers  nor  sisters,  nor  any  one  to  take 
care  of  you  ?" 

"I  have  no  relations  ;  but  there  are  plenty  who,  so  long 
as  I  am  useful  to  them,  treat  me  kindly  enough.  But  you 
must  not  ask  me  any  more  questions  now.  Perhaps  some 
other  time  I  will  tell  you  more.  God  bless  you  !  This  street 
leads  to  where  I  live,  and  I  must  go."  With  these  last 
words,  Sarah  grasped  Margaret's  hand,  and  pressing  it, 
turned  hastily  down  a  side  street,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the 
crowd. 

Margaret  pursued  her  way,  thinking  over  this  last  ad- 
venture, which  had  made  the  day  one  to  be  remembered  by 
her.  Before  forming  any  plans  for  the  future  with  regard 
to  Sarah  Tompkins,  she  determined  to  submit  the  whole 
matter  to  her  grandfather  for  his  advice;  but  at  the  same 
time  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  avoid  feeling  very  much 
interested  in  one  who,  acting  from  some  uncontrollable  im- 
pulse, had  restored  the  money  she  had  stolen. 

In  her  conversation  with  Margaret,  Sarah  had  dropped 
the  swaggering  tone  and  the  slang  phrases  she  had  used 
when  her  language  was  heard  by  Severne  as  she  walked  up 
the  Fifth  Avenue  before  him  several  months  previously. 
Sarah  was  sufficiently  impressionable  to  be  affected  by  the 
beauty  and  refinement  which  Margaret  possessed.  She  was 
a  shrewd,  sensible  girl,  too,  and  knew  perfectly  well  that 
there  would  be  an  incongruity  between  the  fulfillment  of  her 
moral  obligations  to  Margaret  and  the  ordinary  tenor  of 
her  speech,  which  would  be  out  of  place.  She  was  perfectly 
sincere  in  all  the  feeling  she  had  exhibited.  She  had  taken 
Margaret's  pocket-book  without  stopping  to  reflect,  and 
probably  as  much  from  the  influence  of  habit  as  any  other 
cause.  But  when  she  had  it  in  her  possession,  she  began 
to  think.  Margaret  was  apparently  about  her  own  age,  and 
the  most  beautiful  girl  she  had  ever  seen.  This  last  circum- 
stance of  itself  had  great  influence  with  Sarah.  Women 
generally,  unless  actuated  by  jealousy,  admire  beauty  in 
their  own  sex  fully  as  much  as  men  do,  and  are  as  easily  led 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  6? 

by  it.  Margaret  had  spoken  very  kindly  to  her,  and  had 
given  her  money,  trusting  in  the  story  told  to  her.  Sarah 
had  probably  not  been  influenced  much  by  these  facts.  She 
had  withstood  them  before,  and  had  frequently  laughed  at 
the  simplicity  of  those  who  had  been  duped  by  her  wiles. 
And  yet  she  felt  unpleasantly  with  Margaret's  property  in 
her  possession.  She  had  hurried  off  to  an  unfrequented 
alley,  had  opened  the  pocket-book,  and  had  found  it  to  con- 
tain a  greater  sum  of  money  than  she  had  ever  before  pos- 
sessed at  one  time.  The  temptation  to  keep  it  was  very 
great;  but  something-  made  the  act  very  repugnant  to  her. 
Sarah  was  not  sufficiently  trained  in  the  habit  of  self-exam- 
ination to  be  enabled  to  probe  her  motives  to  their  source 
in  this  instance.  She  simply  knew  that  she  should  be  hap- 
pier by  returning  the  pocket-book  than  by  keeping  it.  That 
was  enough  for  her.  And  so  she  replaced  the  notes,  closed 
the  porte-monnaie,  and  started  back  toward  the  place  she 
had  seen  Margaret  enter.  When  she  reached  the  door  of 
the  shop,  she  was  uncertain  whether  Margaret  had  gone  or 
not,  or  whether  it  would  be  expedient  for  her  to  enter  and 
inquire  for  her.  While  pondering  these  questions  in  her 
mind,  she  further  occupied  herself  by  reading  the  words 
painted  on  the  sides  of  the  entrance  ;  and  though  she  found 
it  a  rather  difficult  task  to  decipher  the  old  English  text, 
she  managed  to  make  out  that  the  establishment  was  one 
where  books  were  kept  for  sale.  Turning  then  to  the  win- 
dows, she  put  her  face  close  up  against  the  glass  and  en- 
deavored to  make  out  the  interior  of  the  shop.  This  was 
even  a  more  laborious  undertaking  than  the  other ;  but  after 
receiving  many  erroneous  impressions  she  succeeded  in  get- 
ting an  idea  of  the  arrangement  within.  She  could  see  the 
tables  of  books,  the  door  of  "the  den"  far  in  the  back- 
ground, and,  as  it  was  open,  could  see  into  the  sanctum 
itself.  There  was  no  sign  of  Margaret,  however,  and  Sarah 
was  beginning  to  despair  of  meeting  her,  when  she  saw  the 
flutter  of  a  woman's  dress  in  the  more  distant  apartment, 
and  recognizing  the  color  as  like  that  of  Margaret's  frock, 
she  sat  down  on  the  door  step  to  wait  for  the  exit  of  her  of 
whom  she  was  in  search.  , 

Sarah  had  not  been  long  seated  when,  happening  to  turn 
her  eyes  toward  one  of  the  windows,  she  perceived  a  gentle- 


68  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

man  looking  very  intently  at  something  within  which  seemed 
to  afford  him  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  She  was  so  much 
struck  by  his  manner  and  expressions,  that  she  did  not  scan 
his  features  very  closely  at  first ;  but  when  af  last  she  did 
so,  she  was  somewhat  annoyed  to  find  that  he  was  the  same 
who  had  given  her  ten  dollars  nearly  six  months  since  in 
the  Fifth  Avenue.  There  was  no  cause  known  to  Sarah 
which  could  disturb  her  equanimity  at  meeting  with  Robert 
Severne,  except  the  consciousness  that  she  had  perpetrated 
a  fraud  upon  him.  She  was  unaware  that  he  had  heard  the 
conversation  between  herself  and  her  male  companion,  which 
took  place  shortly  afterward,  or  that  he  had  been  looking 
for  her  ever  since  that  occurred.  Had  she  known  these  cir- 
cumstances, she  would  have  been  still  more  anxious  than  she 
was  to  avoid  Severne's  observation.  It  was  impossible  for 
her  to  rise  from  her  position  without  running  a  greater  risk 
of  attracting  his  attention  than  she  did  by  remaining  seated 
and  averting  her  face,  and  so,  turning  her  head  aside,  she 
waited  impatiently  for  his  departure. 

But  Severne  did  not  appear  at  all  disposed  to  "move 
on."  He  had  evidently  found  something  which  interested 
him,  and  having,  by  the  most  strenuous  exertions,  caught 
the  run  of  the  sentences  on  the  open  face  of  the  books  which 
were  displayed,  did  not  seem  inclined  to  relinquish  his  posi- 
tion till  he  had  read  them  through.  At  last,  however,  he 
apparently  discovered  a  book  which  gave  him  extraordinary 
pleasure. 

Sarah  could  not  distinguish  what  he  said,  but  it  was  very 
evident  to  her  that  he  was  both  surprised  and  delighted. 
Why  he  should  be  so  much  excite'd  over  an  old  musty  book 
was  a  mystery  to  her.  She  turned  her  face  toward  him  in 
order  to  observe  his  demeanor  more  closely,  for  she  was  be- 
coming interested.  But  though"she  saw  that  he  was  speak- 
ing, she  could  scarcely  hear  his  voice,  much  less  distinguish 
his  words,  and  as  to  the  book,  she  could  not  see  it  at  all. 

Having  finished  his  scrutiny,  Severne  turned  to  enter  the 
shop,  and  Sarah,  seeing  that  if  she  remained  she  would  cer- 
tainly be  discovered,  started  suddenly  up  and  ran  rapidly  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Just  as  she  passed  the  door,  she 
saw  Margaret  come  out,  and,  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
Severne  entered  without  having  had  his  attention  specially 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  69 

attracted  by  the  meanly-clad  girl  who  flitted  away  at  his 
approach. 

As  soon  as  he  was  fairly  within,  Sarah  turned,  and  by 
dint  of  fast  walking  shortly  overtook  Margaret.  The  result 
of  the  interview  is  known  to  the  reader.  Sarah's  good  in- 
tentions had  not  been  interfered  with  by  the  fact  that  she 
had  recognized  Severne  as  the  gentleman  whom  she  had 
swindled  out  of  ten  dollars.  On  the  contrary,  her  determ- 
ination to  refund  Margaret's  money  was  strengthened. 
Why,  was  not  very  clear  to  her  mind,  for  she  certainly  felt 
no  such  disposition  toward  him;  and  had  the  opportunity 
offered,  she  would  in  all  probability,  if  she  had  thought  her- 
self secure  from  detection,  again  have  made  him  the0victim 
of  her  artful  proceedings. 

Sarah  walked  rapidly  down  the  cross  street  after  leaving 
Margaret,  until  finding  that  the  latter  had  continued  her 
eourse  toward  Broadway,  she  turned  and  took  the  same 
direction.  She  had  been  much  impressed  by  Margaret's 
demeanor.  There  had  been  no  long  harangues  on  the  sin 
of  stealing,  no  offers  of  tracts,  no  appeals  to  her  to  change 
her  mode  of  life.  And  yet  every  tone  had  sunk  into  her 
heart,  every  word  was  fixed  indelibly  in  her  memory,  every 
look  spoke  to  her  of  sympathy  and  love.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  existence  she  began  to  form  for  herself  an  ideal  of  good- 
ness. She  had  no  definite  thoughts  of  changing  her  mode 
of  life ;  such  a  thing  did  not  even  occur  to  her.  She  merely 
saw  and  acknowledged  the  fact  that  Margaret  was  far 
above  her  in  the  possession  of  the  power  that  virtue  give?, 
and  she  began  therefore  to  experience  a  feeling  for  her  ap- 
proaching to  adoration. 

In  the  possession  of  what  is  called  "worldly  wisdom,"  Sarah 
Tompkius  was  very  far  the  superior  of  Margaret  Leslie. 
She  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact  that  she  was  not  a 
proper  person  for  Margaret  to  be  seen  walking  and  talking 
with  in  one  of  the  most  frequented  streets  of  New  York, 
where  at  any  moment  she  was  liable  to  meet  acquaintances. 
At  the  first  opportunity,  therefore,  •  Sarah  had  taken  her 
leave,  Jntending  however  to  follow  Margaret,  unobserved, 
till  she  discovered  where  she  lived. 

Withthis  view  she  continued  on  in  the  direction  she  had 
seen  Margaret  take,  and  soon  caught  sight  of  her.  She 

7* 


70  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

kept  far  enough  away  to  avoid  all  risk  of  being  discovered, 
should  Margaret  chance  to  look  back,  and  thus  followed 
her  till  the  latter,  leaving  Broadway,  finally  entered  her  own 
house  and  closed  the  door  after  her.  Allowing  a  safe  in- 
terval of  time  to  elapse,  Sarah  resumed  her  course  till  she 
also  arrived  at  the  house  she  had  seen  Margaret  enter. 
She  merely  stopped  before  it  long  enough  to  read  the  name 
on  the  door  and  to  fix  the  number  in  her  mind;  and  then, 
retracing  her  steps,  crossed  Broadway,  and  hurried  away  to- 
ward the  western  part  of  the  city. 

"  I  could  not  bear  to  let  the  night  pass  without  finding 
out  the  name,  and  where  she  lived,"  said  Sarah  to  herself, 
as  she  walked  along.  "I  don't  know  though  why  I  should 
think  so  much  about  her.  It  isn't  very  likely  her  father 
will  let  her  have  anything  to  do  with  me.  She  knows  where 
I  live,  and  I  know  where  she  lives.  Holmes ;  she  must  be 
the  daughter  of  the  man  who  keeps  the  book-store  she  was 
at  this  morniijg.  I  wonder  what  her  first  name  is!  I 
hope  it's  prettier  than  Sarah.  Holmes,  though,  isn't  much 
prettier  than  Tompkins." 

"  Halloa,  Sal,  where  are  you  going  so  fast  that  you  don't 
see  your  friends  ?"  said  a  big,  burly,  red-faced,  but  good- 
looking  man,  who  had  opened  his  arms  and  caught  Sarah 
in  his  embrace,  as  with  downcast  eyes  she  pursued  her  way. 
"  Lord,  but  you  are  a  precious  armful,  Sal !"  • 

"Let  me  go,  Bill,  and  don't  do  that  again.  Where  I'm 
going,  is  none  of  your  business.  You  just  mind  your  own 
concerns  and  I'll  mind  mine." 

"  Well,  you  are  one  of  'em,  Sal,  and  no  mistake  !  Why, 
Lord  bless  you,  what's  the  use  of  you  getting  mad  with 
me?" 

"  I  ain't  mad,  Bill ;  but  I  won't  be  stopped  by  any  fellow 
when  I  don't  want  to  be  stopped.  I've  got  other  things  to 
think  of  besides  you." 

"  Yes,  Sal,  you  are  a  regular  college  gal,  I  know,  deep  in 
learnin'  of  all  sorts.  You  know  what  kind  of  cheese  the 
moon's  made  of  as"  well  as  any  other  gal  in  New  York.  I 
heard  this  morning  that  you  was  going  to  run  for  Congress. 
Is  it  true,  Sal  ?» 

"  Not  quite  so  true  as  that  you  are  running  for  Sing 
Sine.* 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  71 

"Good  for  you,  Sal.  I  always  said  you  could  hold  your 
own  with  any  man,  even  with  me.  Now,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  a  nice  little  secret,  just  by  the  way  of  showing  my  con- 
fidence in  you.  There's  to  be  a  big  lay  to-night." 

"  Where,  Bill  ?" 

"Oh,  over  there  at  the  house  of  a  rich  old  codger,  who 
has  more  money  than  he  .knows  what  to  do  with." 

"Over  where,  Bill?    In  what  street?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  the  place.  Jack  Duggan 
got  it  up.  He  says  it's  the  best  thing  he's  found  for  a  long 
time.  What  luck  have  you  had  to-day,  Sal  ?" 

"  Not  much.  I  got  fifteen  dollars  out  of  a  fellow's  pocket 
in  Wall  Street,  but  that's  all." 

"Not  much  that,  Sal.  Now  as  for  me,  I  never  feel  quite 
right  unless  I  make  my  fifty  dollars  a  day.  I  expect  to 
make  a  thousand  to  night." 

"  Who  are  in  besides  you  and  Jack  Duggan  ?" 

"Only  Jim  Terry." 

"Is  Jim  in?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  we  could  not  do  without  Jim.  He's  one  of  our 
best  men,  you  know ;  and  besides,  he's  always  the  life  of  any 
crew  he's  in.  He  has  his  joke  about  everything.  I  don't  see 
through  half  of  his  fun,  but  the  other  fellows  do,  and  so  I 
laugh  with  the  rest  of  'em.  Just  now  I  asked  him^vhere  he 
was  a  going  to-night,  and  says  he,  '  We're  going  to  our  old 
homes,'  and  then  Jack  and  Betsey  laughed  fit  to  kill  them- 
selves, and  I  laughed  too,  but  just  to  keep  them  company; 
for  blowed  if  I  see  anything  funny  in  telling  a  fellow  that 
asks  a  civil  question,  which  he  has  a  right  to  know,  that  he's 
going  home,  when  he  ain't  going  to  any  such  place." 

"  Going  to  your  old  homes  ?  Why,  what  did  he  mean  by 
that,  Bill?" 

"  You'll  have  to  ask  him,  Sal,  for  his  jokes  are  too  deep 
for  me." 

"Homes!  Homes!"  repeated  Sarah.  "I  don't  see  any- 
thing to  laugh  at  in  that.  My  God  I"  she  continued,  a 
sudden  light  seeming  to  burst  upon  her  mind.  "  Can  it  be 
possible  ?" 

"Well,  I'm  all  mystified  completely  with  Jim  Terry's 
jokes.  You  know,  Sal,  I'm  not  a  fool  by  no  manner  of 
Nobody  ever  said  I  was.  I  may  not  have  much 


72  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

high  sense ;  but  when  it  comes  to  things  in  my  line,  I'm  just 
about  as  sharp  as  any  of  'em.  But  Jim  Terry's  jokes  just 
take  all  the  starch  out  of  me.  First  one  party  laughs  like 
a  lot  of  monkeys,  and  then  another  party  goes  off  into  fits, 
and  says,  '  My  God,  can  it  be  possible  ?'  And  all  because  of 
Jim  Terry's  joke."  , 

"  Never  mind,  Bill,  it  will  all  come  right,  I  guess.  I  was 
thinking  of  something  else  just  then,  something  I  forgot  all 
day,  and  just  recollected.  As  you  say,  I  don't  see  anything 
funny  in  Jim  Terry's  jokes,  and,  to  my  mind,  he  makes  too 
many  of  them.  I'm  going  home  now,  and  I'll  tell  him  he's 
a  fool." 

"  Good-by,  Sal !  We  don't  start  till  about  two  o'clock, 
and  I'll  see  you  again  before  we  go.  You'll  have  something 
hot  for  us,  won't  you  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Bill !  I'll  get  you  up  something  nice  before  you 
go,  and  have  a  good  hot  drink  ready  for  you  when  you  come 
back." 

The  two  separated ;  Sarah  to  proceed  on  her  way  home, 
and  Bill  Smithers  to  complete  an  errand  upon  which  he  had  . 
been  sent.  Sarah  knew  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  at- 
tempt to  find  out  from  him  any  particulars  of  the  proposed 
expedition.  Although  perfectly  trusty,  so  far  as  his  inten- 
tions weffe  concerned,  Bill  was  too  loquacious  and  simple- 
minded  to  be  trusted  by  the  gang  to  which  he  belonged  with 
any  information  except  that  of  the  most  general  character. 
His  chief  value  to  them  consisted  in  the  facts  that  he  was 
possessed  of  immense  physical  strength,  and  was  always 
ready  to  obey  all  orders  which  were  given  him  not  involving 
any  great  restriction  on  his  faculty  of  speech.  Sarah  was 
certain,  therefore,  that  Bill  had  told  her  all  he  knew,  and 
that  any  further  details  must  be  obtained  from  the  other 
members  of  the  party.  She  felt  very  sure,  however,  that 
she  had  discovered  the  true  meaning  of  Jim  Terry's  joke, 
and  the  fact  that  the  young  girl,  whom  she  began  to  regard 
with  so  much  love  and  admiration,  was  an  inmate  of  the 
house  to  be  visited,  gave  her  a  great  deal  of  uneasiness. 
She  was  fully  cognizant  of  the  fact  that  the  gang  of  which 
her  particular  friend,  Jim  Terry,  was  captain,  and  Jack  Dug- 
gan  a  prominent  member,  was  one  of  the  most  desperate 
and  determined  of  the  many  similar  organizations  existing 


ROBERT   8E VERNE.  73 

in  the  city.  Gamblers,  burglars,  and  pickpockets  by  pro- 
fession, they  were  not  likely  to  stop  at  murder  if 'the  perpe- 
tration of  this  crime  should  become  necessary  to  accomplish 
their  ends  or  secure  their  safety.  It  was  not  without  reason, 
therefore,  that  she  was  alarmed. 

As  Sarah  hurried  toward  her  home,  one  thought  was 
uppermost  in  her  mind,  and  that  was  how  to  prevent  the 
success  of  the  burglarious  scheme  which  had  been  conceived 
by  her  associates.  It  would  have  been  very  easy  to  stop 
all  further  movements  by  going  to  the  nearest  police  station 
and  causing  the  whole  party  to  be  arrested,  but  with  all  her 
desire  to  save  Margaret  from  any  possible  injury,  it  was  not 
a  part  of  her  plan  to  bring  her  friends  into  trouble.  There 
was  still  plenty  of  time,  however,  for  her  to  obtain  addi- 
tional knowledge  relative  to  the  proposed  robbery,  and  to 
resolve  the  whole  subject  further  in  her  mind,  before  the  ne- 
cessity for  taking  action  would  arise.  To  find  Jim  Terry 
was  therefore  her  first  object,  and  as  her  relations  with  this 
gentleman  were  of  the  most  intimate  character,  she  had  no 
doubt  in  regard  to  complete  success  in  getting  from  him  all 
the  information  she  required. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MENS    INSANA   IN   CORPORB    IXSANO. 

ON  the  evening  before  Margaret's  visit  to  her  grand- 
father's shop,  Severne  sat  in  his  library  almost  concealed 
from  view  by  the  piles  of  books  which  covered  the  table, 
and  even  the  floor  around  him.  He  had  stopped  his  labors 
for  the  moment;  and  was  leaning  back  in  a  comfortable  arm- 
chair, indulging  in  thoughts  altogether  foreign  to  the  subject 
of  his  studies,  and  which  were  doubtless  rendered  far  more 
vivid  by  the  highly-flavored  Cabanas  cigar  he  was  smoking. 

No  one  who  had  seen  Severne  six  months  previously,  and 
who  looked  at  him  now,  would  have  failed  to  perceive  the 
great  change  which  had  taken  place  in  his  appearance.  He 


74  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

had  evidently  been  "losing  ground"  physically.  His  whole 
frame  was  less  compact,  his  countenance  was  pale  and  hag- 
gard, and  betokened  a  degree  of  mental  anxiety  very  for- 
eign to  the  indifference  which  prevailed  when  Lawrence 
had  endeavored  to  arouse  him  into  activity.  With  even 
greater  rapidity  than  Lawrence  had  predicted,  the  mental 
and  physical  ill  health,  against  which  he  had  deemed  it  his 
duty  to  warn  his  friend,  had  become  established,  and  at  last 
even  Severne  could  no  longer  shut  his  eyes  to  the  certain 
termination,  if  he  continued  to  outrage  the  laws  of  his 
being. 

Within  the  last  two  weeks  certain  symptoms  had  occurred 
which  gave  him  uneasiness.  He  had  had  several  attacks  of 
vertigo,  and  on  one  occasion  had  almost  lost  consciousness. 
The  page  he  was  reading,  suddenly  became  blurred ;  the 
words  ran  into  uninterrupted  lines;  he  heard  a  buzzing 
noise  in  his  ears,  and  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  breast. 
It  was  not  for  long,  however.  In  a  few  seconds  he  was  him- 
self again,  or  rather  almost  himself,  for  he  felt  a  degree  of 
lassitude  which  convinced  him  that  his  system  had  received 
a  serious  shock.  In  addition,  he  was  tormented  with  almost 
constant  headache,  and  at  night  scarcely  closed  his  eyes  in 
sleep. 

As  has  been  said,  he  was  beginning  to  be  alarmed,  when 
an  event  occurred  which  determined  him  to  lay  his  case 
before  Lawrence,  and  to  ask  his  advice.  He  had  still  at 
least  six  months'  steady  labor  before  him  ere  his  present 
studies  could  be  brought  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  To 
break  off,  leaving  them  unfinished,  would  have  been  to  sub- 
ject himself  to  a  great  trial,  and  yet  in  his  present  frame  of 
mind  he  could  not  so  collect  his  thoughts  as  to  weave  them 
into  a  connected  train  of  reasoning,  for  a  misfortune  had 
happened  to  him  so  great  as  to  take  precedence  in  the  sor- 
rowful list  of  all  those  which  had  been  allotted  to  him.  For 
five  days  and  nights  he  had  not  been  out  of  the  house,  and 
in  all  that  time  had  scarcely  tasted  food  of  any  kind.  The 
future,  never  very  brilliantly  painted,  which  he  had  hoped, 
however,  might  be  at  least  unmarked  by  more  than  ordinary 
trouble,  was  now  darker  than  it  had  ever  been  in  his  most 
despairing  moments.  What  could  he  do  ?  To  think  was 
maddening,  for  there  was  one  thought  he  could  not  banish 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  75 

from  his  raind,  and  yet  it  would  force  itself  upon  his  atten- 
tion. He  had  resolved,  therefore,  to  send  for  his  friend,  to 
unburden  his  mind  to  him,  and  to  have,  at  least,  the  conso- 
lation of  sharing  his  sorrow  with  one  who  would  not  fail  to 
comfort  him  to  the  utmost  of  his  ability. 

For  five  days,  however,  he  had  not  been  able  to  bring 
himself  to  the  point  of  asking  Lawrence  to  come  to  him. 
As  soon  as  he  had  concluded  to  do  so  in  the  first  instance, 
he  addressed  a  note  to  him,  but  when  he  came  to  read  it 
over  previous  to  inclosing  it,  he  found  to  his  sorrow  that  he 
had  written  words  conveying  a  far  different  meaning  from 
what  he  had  intended.  So  great  was  the  shock  which  this 
ev.ent  gave  him,  that  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  write 
again,  but  had  waited,  hoping  that  Lawrence  would  drop  in 
of  his  own  accord.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  Lawrence  did 
not  come.  Severne  felt  that  he  could  not  much  longer 
endure  the  torments  of  his  position.  He  had  tried  tp  write, 
but  his  pen  refused  to  obey  his  wishes,  and  he  had  thrown  it 
down,  and,  taking  a  cigar,  was  endeavoring  to  get  that  solace 
from  "the  weed,"  which  those  who  approach  it,  with  due 
recognition  of  its  power,  so  rarely  fail  to  obtain.  But  this 
also  failed  him.  He  had  consumed  at  least  a  dozen  cigars 
that  day,  and  there  is  a  limit  even  to  the  benevolence  of 
the  goddess  Nicotia.  He  smoked  on,  however,  till  the  cigar 
was  finished,  and  then  rose  from  his  chair  and  rang  the  bell. 
It  was  answered  almost  immediately  by  his  valet,  Wilson. 

"I  wish  you  would  send  some  one  around  to  Dr.  Law- 
rence, and  with  my  compliments  request  him  to  call  here  this 
evening  as  soon  as  he  can." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Wilson,  with  a  bow,  and  was  about  leav- 
ing the  room  when  his  master  said : 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Wilson, — what  did  you  understand  me 
to  say  to  you  ?" 

"  To  send  some  one  to  Dr.  -Lawrence  with  your  compli- 
ments, and  to  ask  him  to  call  here  this  evening  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"Yes,  that  is  right;"  and  then,  when  Wilson  had  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  Severne  threw  himself  on  a  sofa. 
"Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  can  yet  say  what  I  in- 
tend. How  long  this  power  will  be  granted  to  me,  He  only 
knows.  When  I  think  of  what  I  have  suffered  during  the 


76  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

last  few  days,  I  am  tempted  to  wish  that  He  would  take 
away  this  miserable  life.  Surely  there  can  be  no  troubles 
beyond  the  grave  equal  to  those  which  have  been  visited 
upon  me  here.  Can  it  be  possible  that  I  am  iu  my  right 
mind, — that  I  have  seen  a  reality  and  not  a  phantom  of  a 
diseased  imagination  ?  I  know  there  are  instances  in.  which 
men  who  have  overworked  their  minds  have  fancied  they 
saw  images  of  various  kinds.  There  was  too  much  real  life 
about  ray  vision,  however.  It  was  a  true,  substantial  piece 
of  flesh  and  blood.  I  know  it  too  well  to  be  deceived. 
My  Grod  !  my  God  !  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  Am  I  to  have 
no  happiness,  not  even  rest,  for  the  little  remnant  of  life 
that  remains  to  me  ?  I  must  do  something  at  once  for  tem- 
porary relief  or  I  shall  be  in  no  fit  condition  to  talk  to 
Lawrence.  How  my  head  throbs  !" 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  Wilson  again  obeyed  the  summons. 

"  Has  Dr.  Lawrence  been  sent  for  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  James  has  just  returned.  The  doctor  was  not 
at  home,  but  he  left  word  for  him  to  call  here  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"Very  well.  Bring  a  bottle  of  champagne  (Clicquot),  a 
bowl  of  ice,  and  some  glasses.  Have  some  coffee  made, 
and  bring  it  up  after  Dr.  Lawrence  comes.  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  disturbed  by  other  visitors  while  he  is  here." 

Wilson  bowed  and  left  the  room.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
returned,  accompanied  by  another  servant,  with  the  articles 
Severne  had  ordered,  which  he  placed  on  a  side-table.  He 
had  cut  the  wires  which  restrained  the  cork  of  the  cham- 
pagne bottle  and  had  placed  the  latter  in  a  heavy  silver 
wine-cooler,  ready  to  be  opened  as  soon  as  its  temperature 
should  be  sufficiently  reduced.  Further  than  this  he  did 
not  go,  as  he  knew  his  master's  ways  too  well  to  ask  him 
whether  or  not  he  should  open  it  and  pour  him  out  a  glass. 
There  were  few  things  that  Severne  disliked  more  than  sug- 
gestions from  his  servants.  When  he  wanted  anything  he 
asked  for  it,  and  Wilson  knew  exactly  how  far  to  go  in 
meeting  his  wishes,  which  was  to  do  precisely  what  he  was 
told  to  do,  neither  more  nor  less. 

For  some  time  after  the  two  men  left  the  room,  Severne 
sat  at  the  table  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  He  had 
not  seen  Lawrence  for  more  than  a  week,  and  he  was  con- 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  77 

scious  that  even  in  that  short  period  his  appearance  had 
changed  very  much.  At  their  last  interview  his  friend  had 
made  him  promise  that  as  soon  as  his  "System  of  Philoso- 
phy" was  completed  he  would  give  up  all  literary  labor  for 
a  year,  and  spend  that  time  in  travel  and  recreation.  Since 
then  this  intention  had  been  placed  with  many  others  which 
had  been  formed,  and  abandoned  from  the  force  of  circum- 
stances beyond  his  control.  As  matters  now  stood,  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  give  his  mind  to  his  studies;  and  as 
to  travel,  couU3  that  or  any  other  resource  make  him  forget 
what  he  had  learned  within  the  last  few  days  ? 

A  half  hour  had  elapsed  and  Lawrence  had  not  come. 
Severne  rose  from  his  chair,  and  crossing  the  floor  to  where 
the  table  with  the  wine  stood,  opened  the  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne and  poured  out  a'goblet  of  the  foaming  liquor,  which 
he  drank  off,  without  removing  the  glass  from  his  lips  till 
he  had  drained  the  last  drop.  Again  he  filled  the  glass  to 
the  brim,  and  was  raising  it  to  his  lips  a  second  time  when 
there  was  a  light  knock  at  the  door,  followed  almost  imme- 
diately by  the  entrance  of  Lawrence. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Severne,  "you  are  in  the  nick  of 
time  to  join  me  in  a  glass  of  champagne.  I  have  just 
swallowed  a  bumper  of  it.  It  is  the  only  wine  I  drink  now ; 
all  others  have  palled  on  my  appetite." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Lawrence,  advancing  and  holding 
out  his  hand,  which  Severne  grasped  warmly.  "  You  are 
about  as  pleasant  a  vision  as  it  is  ever  vouchsafed  to  a  phy- 
sician to  see  who  is  summoned  in  haste  and  expects  to  find 
a  moribund  patient.  Of  course  I  will  take  a  glass  of  cham- 
pagne. It  is  very  seldom  I  refuse  it.  I  am  not  able  to 
buy  it  myself,  and  therefore  I  drink  other  people's  with 
more  relish." 

"I  will  send  you  half  a  dozen  cases  to-morrow,"  said  Se- 
verne, "as  your  fee  for  this  visit.  You  never  come  here 
now  unless  I  send  for  you.  What  have  I  done  that  you 
should  desert  me  in  this  way  ?" 

"My  dear  Severne,  be  reasonable.  Did  you  not  tell  me 
the  last  time  we  met  that  you  were  going  to  give  your  time 
uninterruptedly  to  your  studies  for  the  next  six  mouths, 
and  that  you  wished  to  see  no  one  till  they  were  finished  ?" 

"I  believe  I  did,  Lawrence;  but  since  then  I  have  seen 


78  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

one  person  whom  I  had  hoped  never  to  meet  again  in  this 
world.  I  am  willing  to  see  the  devil  and  all  his  angels  now 
without  a  murmur." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lawrence,  laughing;  "and  therefore 
you  sent  for  me.  You  lack  the  first  element  in  the  .tempera- 
ment of  a  patient — respect  for  your  physician.  If  I  did 
not  perceive  from  your  face  that  you  have  been  misusing 
yourself  worse  than  ever  since  I  saw  you,  I  should  think 
you  had  invited  me  over  here  to  draw  me  into  a  quarrel 
merely  by  way  of  a  little  relaxation." 

"  I  never  was  more  serious  in  all  my  life.  I  would  rather 
have  seen  the  devil  and  all  his  angels  than  the  person  I 
have  met  three  times  in  the  last  five  days.  Lawrence,  my 
wife  is  not  dead.  I  have  seen  her." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Lawrence,  looking  fixedly  in  his 
friend's  face. 

"  I  have  seen  my  wife." 

"Impossible!" 

"  I  tell  you  I  have,  and  just  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  now." 

"And  I  tell  you,  you  have  not.  Why,  Severne,  your 
wife  has  been  dead  these  ten  years." 

"  So  I  thought  till  a  few  days  ago.  Come,  Lawrence, 
hear  what  I  have  to  say  before  you  question  the  correctness 
of  my  visual  impressions.  Either  I  have  seen  my  wife  three 
times,  or  I  am  crazy.  I  wish  you  to  give  me  your  profes- 
sional opinion  on  the  point  when  you  have  heard  my  story." 

Lawrence  made  no  reply.  He  had  no  doubt  in  his  own 
mind  relative  £b  the  true  character  of  Severne's  vision,  but 
he  resolved  to  hear  him  through  before  attempting  to  con- 
vince him  of  his  error.  He  accordingly  threw  himself  on 
the  sofa,  and  Severne,  resuming  his  seat  at  the  table,  thus 
related  the  particulars  of  the  circumstances  which  had  given 
him  so  much  uneasiness  of  mind. 

"  Last  Monday  morning  I  had  occasion  to  visit  the  Astor 
Library  to  consult  a  book  which  I  have  been  trying  for 
several  years  to  get  for  my  own  shelves,  and  which  I  had 
just  ascertained  was  in  that  institution.  I  felt  as  well  as  I 
usually  have  done  for  the  last  year  or  so,  except  that  I  had 
a  little  headache  and  had  passed  a  somewhat  restless  night. 
I  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue  without  meeting  with  any  ad- 
venture, and  passing  into  Broadway,  continued  on  my  way 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  79 

to  Eighth  Street.  As  I  crossed  over  to  Lafayette  Place,  at 
the  point  where  Astor  Place  and  Eighth  Street  come  to- 
gether, I  observed  a  lady  in  front  of  me  a  few  paces,  about 
whom  there  was  something  which  irresistibly  attracted  my 
attention.  What  this  was  I  could  not  at  first  make  out, 
but  by  degrees  I  began  to  perceive  that  she  was  dressed  ex- 
actly as  my  wife  was  the  last  time  I  walked  down  Piccadilly 
from  Hyde  Park  and  saw  her  come  out  of  Arlington  Street 
with  my  father.  I  recollected  the  bonnet,  the  frock,  and  a 
very  fine  shawl  which  he  had  given  her.  I  regarded  this 
as  a  very  singular  coincidence,  but  nothing  more,  for  of 
course  I  did  not  for  a  moment  believe  the  lady  to  be  really 
my  wife.  She  crossed  Eighth  Street  and  proceeded  down 
Lafayette  Place,  still  keeping  a  few  steps  in  advance  of  me. 
Gradually,  as  I  watched  her  with  the  greatest  attention,  I 
recognized  the  walk  and  a  peculiar  swinging  of  the  right 
arm  as  being  identical  in  character  with  similar  movements 
of  my  wife.  In  fact,  the  longer  I  looked  at  her  the  more  I 
became  convinced  of  the  great  resemblance.  The  height, 
the  gait,  the  dress,  the  tout  ensemble,  were  exactly  those  of 
my  wife.  Still  I  was  not  alarmed.  On  the  contrary,  I  was 
very  decidedly  amused.  It  would  be  affectation,  as  you 
very  well  know,  Lawrence,  for  me  at  this  day,  after  all  that 
has  happened,  to  profess  to  feel  the  least  spark  of  love  for 
my  wife.  Aside  from  what  I  regarded  as  her  sudden  and 
violent  death,  I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  have  latterly  con- 
gratulated myself  in  being  rid  of  her  detestable  presence. 
It  did  not,  even  with  all  the  points  of  resemblance  I  have 
mentioned,  at  all  occur  to  me  that  the  lady  I  was  following 
was  any  other  than  one  whose  actions  and  appearance  alto- 
gether were  very  similar  to  those  of  my  wife.  If  any  such 
idea  had  flashed  through  my  mind,  God  knows  I  would  not 
have  been  amused,  but  horrified. 

"As  she  came  opposite  the  library,  she  turned  half  round 
as  if  about  to  enter  the  building,  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  profile.  To  my  utter  horror  and  amazement,  I  saw  my 
wife's  features.  I  stood  still,  unable  to  advance  a  step  farther. 
There  was  no  mistake  this  time ;  the  whole  outline  of  the 
face  was  hers ;  and  as  if  to  place  the  matter  beyond  a  doubt, 
I  saw  hanging  around  her  neck  a  chain  I  had  given  her  and 
which  could  not  be  found  after  her  supposed  death.  I  can- 


80  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

not  venture  to  describe  to  you,  my  dear  Lawrence,  all  I  felt 
in  the  second  or  two  during  which  this  woman  stopped  in 
front  of  the  Astor  Library.  The  memories  of  past  years 
fled  like  lightning  through  my  brain.  I  felt  ray  heart  throb- 
bing violently,  a  singularly  bright  light  flashed  in  my  eyes, 
and  I  believe  I  should  have  fallen,  had  she  not  at  that  mo- 
ment resumed  her  walk.  The  fear  of  losing  sight  of  her, 
and  thus  not  being  able  to  trace  her,  inspired  me  with  fresh 
strength,  and  I  staggered  on  after  her.  She  walked  now, 
however,  much  faster  than  I  did,  and  as  she  reached  Great 
Jones  Street,  she  quickened  her  pace,  as  if  conscious  of  being 
followed.  As  she  turned  the  corner  to  go  toward  the 
Bowery,  I  again  saw  her  face.  If  there  had  been  the  least 
doubt  in  my  mind  before,  it  would  have  been  dispelled,  for 
she  turned  almost  completely  round  for  an  instant,  and  I 
had  a  good  view  of  her  countenance.  She  looked  about  as 
she  did  ten  years  ago,  perhaps  a  little  older,  but  fully  as 
beautiful.  She  did  not  appear  to  see  me,  and  I  made  no 
effort  to  attract  her  attention.  When  I  arrived  at  the  cor- 
ner she  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  As  you  know,  the  dis- 
tance is  too  great  for  her  to  have  reached  the  Bowery,  and 
I  was  not  half  a  minute  behind  her.  There  was  no  house 
either  into  which  she  could  have  gone,  for  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's Church  extends  some  distance  along  Great  Jones 
Street,  and  she  could  not  possibly  have  passed  it  before  I 
reached  the  corner. 

"  This  sudden  disappearance  added  still  more  to  my  aston- 
ishment. The  impression  which  had  been  made  upon  me 
by  the  woman  I  had  seen  was  too  strong,  however,  to  be  at 
once  effaced  by  any  difficulties  of  time  or  place,  and  yet  I 
could  not  account  for  the  abruptness  with  which  she  had 
vanished. 

"  Certainly  I  had  no  desire  whatever  to  meet  my  wife ; 
and  yet  I  experienced  an  unaccountable  impulse  to  ascer- 
tain her  whereabouts.  I  therefore  inquired  at  each  of  the 
houses  whether  or  not  a  lady  had  entered  them  within  the 
last  few  minutes,  but  at  all  I  received  a  negative  answer. 
There  was,  therefore,  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  give  up 
the  search  for  the  present,  although  I  was  not  entirely  con- 
vinced that  all  the  servants  who  answered  the  door-bells 
had  told  me  the  truth.  One  of  them  I  saw  hesitated  before 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  81 

answering.  However,  when  I  stepped  off  the  distance  be.- 
tween  that  door  and  the  corner,  I  could  not  conceive  it  to 
be  possible  that  my  wife  could  have  reached  it  before  I  also 
turned  into  Great  Jones  Street.  I  came  home  as  soon  as 
possible  and  sat  down  to  think  the  matter  over  as  calmly  as 
I  could.  One  of  three  things  had  happened :  I  had  really 
seen  my  wife ;  I  had  been  deluded  by  a  creation  of  my  own 
morbid  imagination ;  or  her  ghost  had  appeared  to  me. 

"  The  first,  which  had  been  my  original  idea,  became  more 
untenable  the  more  I  reflected  upon  it.  I  recalled  to  mind 
the  facts  that'I  had  seen  my  wife  dead  in  her  bed,  the  cause 
of  her  death,  the  opinions  of  the  physicians,  the  funeral; 
and  that  she  had,  so  far  as  we  all  knew,  rested  quietly  in  her 
grave  for  ten  years.  I  then  considered  the  circumstances 
of  her  mysterious  disappearance  in  Great  Jones  Street ;  and, 
after  a  full  review  of  these  and  many  other  points,  which  it 
is  unnecessary  to  mention,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I 
had  not  seen  my  wife  in  the  flesh. 

"The  second  even  was  still  more  inadmissible.  What 
was  there  to  create  such  a  phantom  of  the  mind  ?  I  had 
not  been  thinking  of  my  wife.  I  was  not  melancholic  or 
depressed  in  spirits.  On  the  contrary,  I  felt  comparatively 
well,  and  my  attention  was  altogether  occupied  with  a  far 
different  subject.  I  recollect  distinctly  that  I  was  consider- 
ing the  s'ubject  of  the  contributions  of  the  Arabians  and 
Saracens  to  science  and  philosophy,  and  was  on  my  way  to 
the  Astor  Library  to  refer  to  an  edition  of  Averroes,  printed  ' 
at  Venice  in  1496,  which  I  had  understood  was  there.  There 
was  nothing  at  all  which  could  associate  this  subject  with 
my  wife.  Besides,  I  had  seen  her  for  fully  five  minutes,  per- 
haps more.  It  was  not  probable  that  a  vision  would  have 
lasted  that  long  in  broad  daylight  and  in  a  frequented  thor- 
oughfare. 

"  The  third  idea  was  therefore  forced  upon  my  belief.  I 
have  never  credited  the  stories  which  have  been  told  relative 
to  the  appearance  of  spirits ;  but  I  have  never  questioned  the. 
existence  of  such  beings.  There  had  been  many  philosophi- 
cal reasons  to  cause  me  to  doubt  that  spirits  could  become 
visible.  I  now,  however,  believed  that  I  had  all  my  life 
been  mistaken  on  this  point,  and  it  was  not  at  all  difficult 

8* 


82  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

for  me  to  find  proofs  to  sustain  the  opposite  view.  There 
is  nothing  like  personal  experience.  It  is  better  than  all 
arguments,  and  if  it  does  nothing  more,  it  brings  your  mind 
into  a  fit  condition  to  be  convinced.  I  had  another  very 
good  reason  also  for  inclining  to  this  opinion,  and  that  was 
that  I  had  determined,  upon  what  I  conceived  to  be  good 
grounds,  that  I  had  neither  seen  my  wife  nor  been  deceived 
by  a  fiction  of  the  imagination.  I  therefore  accepted  the 
conclusion  that  I  had  been  visited  by  my  wife's  ghost. 

"  Now,  my  dear  fellow,"  continued  Severne,  filling  his 
glass  with  champagne  and  passing  the  bottle  to  Lawrence, 
who  silently  did  likewise,  "you  may  think  this  was  all  very 
nonsensical,  and,  in  fact,  so  it  was.  I  soon  had  reason,  as 
you  will  learn,  to  change  my  opinion.  The  one  I  had  formed 
was,  however,  at  the  time,  the  most  convincing  to  my  rea- 
son and  the  most  satisfactory  in  other  respects.  It  would 
have  been  exceedingly  disagreeable  to  have  had  my  late  wife 
reappear  in  this  world  to  insult,  to  mortify  me,  and  to  render 
my  whole  life  a  burden  to  me ;  and  it  would  also  have  been 
very  humiliating  to  my  pride  to  be  forced  to  believe  that  I 
had  created  the  phantom  in  my  own  brain.  For  the  time, 
therefore,  I  was  very  well  contented  to  believe  I  had  seen  a 
spirit,  and  I  tried  to  go  to  work  and  forget  all  about  the 
occurrence. 

"I  found  this,  however,  a  task  beyond  my  powers.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  but  my  wife  and  the  spirit  I  had 
seen.  Presently  I  began  to  ask  myself  the  reasons  for  this 
extraordinary  appearance,  and  ere  long  I  found  that  I  was 
reviewing  my  conduct  toward  my  wife  with  a  severity  against 
myself  which  I  had  never  before  manifested.  You  know, 
Lawrence,  all  the  circumstances  of  my  wife's  unhappy  end, 
and  of  my  unhappy  life  while  she  existed.  How " 

"  Yes,  I  know  them  all,  Severne;"  exclaimed  Lawrence, 
interrupting  him  for  the  first  time,  "  and  no  one  who  knows 
them  as  I  do  can  find  anything  in  your  conduct  but  the 
most  thorough  consideration  for  her  welfare  and  your  own 
honor." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Severne.  "  I 
have  never  been  able  to  reproach  myself  with  my  part  till 
last  Monday.  Then,  as  I  sat  here  reflecting  over  what  had 
occurred,  and  trying  to  find  a  reason  for  the  appearance 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  83 

of  ray  wife's  spirit  to  me,  the  thought  passed  through  my 
mind  that  perhaps  I  had  not  done  altogether  right  in  the 
matter  of  her  death.  I  knew  her  propensity,  the  threats 
she  had  made  over  and  over  again  to  me  and  others,  and 
I  thought  that  I  should  have  exercised  more  care  over  her 
than  I  did.  This  idea  increased  in  strength.  I  became 
morbid  over  it,  and  finally  began  to  accuse  myself  of  having 
been  the  means  of  her  death." 

"  My  dear  Severne,"  said  Lawrence,  "you  should  have 
informed  me  of  this  at  the  time.  I  think  I  could  have  con- 
vinced yon  of  the  ejfors  in  your  reasoning.  You  have 
brooded  over  this  thing  till  you  have  allowed  yourself  to 
form  false  views  of  your  duty  and  conduct,  and  you  have 
suffered  acutely  through  the  influence  of  a  diseased  imagina- 
tion." 

"Yes,  I  know  all  that  now,"  replied  Severne.  "You 
will  hear  directly  how  I  became  convinced  of  my  error.  In 
the  mean  time,  however,  I  bitterly  reproached  myself  with 
having  indirectly,  at  least,  caused  my  wife's  death.  I  tried 
to  rid  myself  of  'the  idea  by  resuming  my  studies.  I  found 
this  entirely  unsuccessful.  I  saw  nothing  on  the  pages  of 
the  books  I  endeavored  to  read  but  self-accusations  and 
curses.  I  tried  to  write  a  note  to  you  requesting  you  to 
come  and  see  me.  Here  it  is.  Can  you,  after  reading  that, 
imagine  a  condition  more  deplorable  than  mine  ?" 

Severne  opened  a  drawer  in  his  table,  and  taking  from 
it  a  folded  sheet  of  note-paper,  handed  it  to  Lawrence. 

"I  shall  keep  it,"  he  continued,  "as  a  memento  of  what 
must  be  regarded,  I  suppose,  as  a  state  of  quasi  iu- 
sanity." 

Lawrence  took  the  note  and  read  aloud,  as  follows : 

"June  28th. 

"  MY  DEAR  LAWRENCE  : 

"  It  is  said  that  an  honest  confession  is  good  for  the  soul. 
I  hope  my  soul  will  be  benefited  when  I  acknowledge  to 
you  that  I  admit  myself  to  be  guilty  of  my  wife's  death.  I 
am  her  murderer.  I  no  longer  wish  to  make  a  secret  of  it. 
I  am  now  suffering  the  torments  of  the  damned. 
"  Yours,  in  utter  despair, 

"  ROBERT  SEVERNE." 


84  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  wrote  this,  intending  to 
write  altogether  a  different  note  ?"  said  Lawrence,  looking 
very  much  surprised  and  interested. 

"  Certainly ;  I  intended  to  ask  you  to  come  and  see  me, 
and  thought  I  had  done  so,  till  I  came  to  read  over  what  I 
had  written.  My  horror  at  finding  that  I  had  accused  my- 
self of  my  wife's  death  was  only  equaled  by  that  which  I  felt 
at  discovering  my  inability  to  control  my  pen  or  even  to  be 
conscious  of  the  thoughts  passing  through  my  mind." 

"  Strange,"  said  Lawrence,  in  an  undertone,  "that  two 
such  cases  should  come  under  my  observation  within  so 
short  a  period  !" 

Without  noticing  Lawrence's  remark,  Severne  continued 
his  recital. 

"All  that  night  I  spent  in  this  room  without  once  closing 
my  eyes  in  sleep.  My  head  ached  as  if  it  would  burst,  and 
my  whole  body  trembled  with  the  excitement  due  to  my 
nervous  condition.  I  ate  no  breakfast,  but  took  my  usual 
cold  bath,  with  the  addition  of  a  lump  of  ice  in  it.  I  poured 
the  cold  water  over  my  head  and  face,  and  felt  greatly  re- 
freshed after  the  ablution.  But  the  relief  was  only  tempo- 
rary, for  very  soon  my  head  began  to  throb  again.  I  came 
back  to  this  room  and  lay  down  on  that  lounge.  I  felt 
deadly  weary,  but  my  eyes  were  staring  open  as  if  they  were 
about  to  dart  from  their  sockets,  and  I  could  not,  with  all 
my  efforts,  get  my  mind  composed.  As  I  lay  on  the  lounge, 
my  thoughts,  of  course,  ran  over  the  events  of  the  preceding 
day.  And  while  I  was  in  the  midst  of  ray  speculations  in 
regard  to  the  past  and  the  future,  there  was  a  soft  rap  at 
iny  door.  I  said  'come  in,'  and  turned  half  round  to  see  my 
visitor,  when,  to  my  intense  horror  and  amazement,  I  saw 
my  wife  this  time  face  to  face,  and  dressed  just  as  she  had 
been  the  day  before.  I  sprang  to  my  feet  in  an  instant, 
and  took  a  step  toward  what  I  then  regarded  as  my  wife's 
spirit.  The  intruder  very  quietly  closed  the  door,  and  ad- 
vanced toward  me,  holding  out  her  hand  and  smiling  as 
sweetly  as  she  ever  smiled  before  our  wedded  life.  She 
did  very  little  smiling  in  my  sight  after  our  marriage. 

"'Are  you  a  devil  or  a  spirit?'   I  exclaimed. 

'"Perhaps  I  am  both,  my  dear  Robert,'  she  replied ;  'but, 
however  that  may  be,  I  am  your  wife,  Francisca  Severne.' 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  85 

'"Then  you  are-not  dead  ?' 

"  '  Dead  !  No  more  dead  than  you  are,  my  dear  husband. 
I  have  come  a  long  way  to  see  you,  and  you  ought  to  mani- 
fest more  joy  at  beholding  me  than  to  stand  there  trembling 
as  if  yon  were  frightened  to  death.' 

" '  Francisca,'  I  said,  'let  there  be  peace  between  us. 
There  can  be  no  more  love.  I  thought  you  were  dead  and 
buried.  How  your  life  has  been  preserved,  I  do  not  know, 
neither  do  I  care  to  be  informed.  I  recognize  you  too  well 
as  my  wife.  L»et  that  suffice.  Name  the  terms  that  will  iii- 
duce  you  to  leave  me,  and  they  will  at  once  be  complied 
with.  If  you  have  not  changed,  you  will  sell  me  peace/  , 

"'Oh,  but  I  have  changed  very  much.  Money  is  no  ob- 
ject to  me  now.  It  is  your  love  I  want,  my  dear  Robert. 
The  law  allows  me  that,  in  theory  at  least.  No  1  no !  I 
cannot  be  bought  for  money.  Take  me  back  as  your  wife, 
and  I  am  very  sure  we  shall  be  happy.' 

"'Never!'  I  exclaimed.  'False,  perjured,  shameless 
woman,  never !  It  is  impossible.  Do  you  think  I  have  for- 
gotten your  vile  deeds,  or  that  I  would  desecrate  my  hearth 
with  the  presence  of  such  a  fiend  as  you  are  ?' 

"'Very  well,  my  dear  Robert.  Just  as  you  please  for 
the  present.  But  do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  allow  yourself  to  be 
excited.  It  worries  me,  upon  my  life  it  does,  to  see  you  get 
angry.  Did  not  the  doctor  say,  my  dear,  that  you  had 
some  disease  of  the  heart?  I  see  you  are  not  in  a  frame 
of  mind  to  talk  to  me  calmly.  I  will  leave  you,  to  return 
very  soon  for  your  answer.  Good-by !  Think  of  what  I 
have  said.  For  me,  I  still  wear  my  wedding-ring.  Good- 
by,  my  dear,  good-by !' 

"And  waving  her  hand  to  me,  and  smiling  as  if  I  had  ut- 
tered words  of  the  most  devoted  love  to  her,  she  turned  and 
left  the  room. 

"  I  rang  the  bell,  and  it  was  answered  before  my  visitor 
could  have  left  the  house.  In  reply  to  my  inquiries,  the 
servant  informed  me  that  he  had  admitted  a  woman,  who 
had  told  him  she  wished  to  see  me,  and  had  accompanied 
her  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  library,  as  she  said  it  was  a 
matter  of  importance;  that  he  had  knocked  at  the  door  and 
had  seen  her  enter  the  room.  He  had  also  met  her  on 
the  stairs  as  she  was  going  away,  and  she  had  requested 


86  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

him  to  hurry  up,  as  he  might  be  wanted  badly.  She  did 
not,  he  said,  look  much  like  a  lady,  aud  seemed  somewhat 
frightened. 

"Of  course,  my  dear  Lawrence,  my  ideas  underwent  a 
change  after  this  interview.  I  was  now  satisfied  that  I  had 
seen  my  wife  in  reality  twice,  and  not  her  spirit.  The  whole 
current  of  my  thoughts  changed.  It  would  have  been  ab- 
surd for  me  to  have  longer  accused  myself  of  murdering  my 
wife  when  that  wife  was  still  alive ;  but  I  cannot  say  that 
my  condition  was  much  improved.  The  idea  of  being  still 
tied  to  a  hateful  woman,  from  whom  I  had  long  thought 
myself  separated  forever,  was  insupportable,  and  I  resolved 
to  rid  myself  of  her  presence  by  fleeing  from  the  country 
and  spending  the  rest  of  my  miserable  days  in  some  far  dis- 
tant land.  I  saw  nothing  before  me  in  any  event  but  a  life 
of  the  most  supreme  unhappiness,  to  be  rendered  a  thou- 
sand times  more  wretched  if  I  remained  within  her  reach. 
I  therefore  began  to  make  preparations  for  my  departure 
secretly,  without  even  letting  you  know  of  my  intention; 
and  had  made  some  progress  in  the  matter  when  I  was  again 
visited  by  my  wife. 

"She  came  into  this  room  last  night  about  this  time,  with- 
out knocking  at  the  door,  but  with  as  much  ease  and  self- 
possession  as  if  she  lived  in  the  house.  She  took  a  seat 
quietly,  apparently  waiting  for  me  to  be  disengaged.  I  was 
at  the  time  looking  over  some  papers,  and  making  proper 
disposition  of  them,  as  I  expected  Freeling,  my  lawyer,  here 
in  the  course  of  the  evening.  I  had  expected  her  to  make 
me  another  visit,  and  therefore  was  not  surprised  at  her  ap- 
pearance. I  took  no  notice  of  her  for  several  moments,  and 
at  last  she  spoke. 

" '  My  dear  Robert,'  she  said, '  I  am  sorry  you  continue  to 
treat  me  with  so  much  coldness  ;  there  was  a  time  when  your 
Francisca  was  very  dear  to  you.  Do  you  not  recollect  the 
words  you  spoke  to  me  by  the  lakeside  in  the  hills  and  at 
Lady  Strickland's  ball  ?  There  was  love  enough  in  them  to 
last  forever,  I  thought,  and  now  you  will  not  even  say  a 
word  to  me.  I  know  your  plans  though,  Robert,  and  I 
shall  never  give  my  consent  to  them.' 

"  '  Madam,'  I  answered,  '  I  am  in  no  humor  to  enter  into 
an  argument  with  you  on  any  subject.  Whatever  demands 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  8t 

you  have  to  make  upon  me  in  the  way  of  settlements,  must 
be  made  to  my  attorney.  I  have  already  given  him  instruc- 
tions on  the  subject,  and  he  is  prepared  to  accede  to  any 
proposition  you  may  make,  even  to  the  extent  of  giving 
you  two-thirds  of  my  estate.  I  refuse  positively  ever  to 
live  with  you  again,  or  to  hold  any  further  communication 
with  you,  and  I  have,  therefore,  to  request  that  you  will 
l«ave  me  at  once.' 

"'Very  well,  my  dear  husband, 'she  replied,  with  the  most 
perfect  sang  fnoid  imaginable.  '  I  will  go  once  more.  My 
next  visit  will  be  considerably  longer.  You  need  not  think 
to  escape  from  me.  I  shall  remain  with  you  for  the  rest  of 
your  life.  I  have  a  power  to  wield  which  you  little  dream 
of,  and  I  warn  you  not  to  force  me  to  use  it.  Once  more, 
and  for  the  last  time,  good-by  !' 

"With  these  words  she  made  me  a  profound  bow,  and 
left  me. 

"Again  I  rang  the  beU.     It  was  answered  by  Wilson. 

" '  Never  let  that  woman  enter  the  house  again,'  ex- 
claimed I. 

" '  Woman,  sir  1'  he  exclaimed. 

" '  Yes,  woman  !  Did  you  not  admit  that  woman  who  has 
just  left  the  room  ?' 

"'No,  sir.  No  person  has  entered  the  house  within  the 
last  half  hour,  for  I  have  been  sitting  in  the  hall,  and  would 
have  seen  any  one  who  came  in.' 

"All  the  other  servants  assured  me  positively  that  no  wo- 
man had  entered  the  house  that  night. 

"  What  to  make  of  this  last  phase  of  the  matter  I  did 
not  know.  Either  all  in  the  house  were  mistaken,  or  I  had 
deceived  myself  with  a  phantom  of  the  imagination.  You 
may  think  it  strange,  perhaps,  that  I  should  embrace  the 
first  alternative ;  but  so  strong  was  the  impression  made 
upon  me  by  what  had  occurred, — and  I  may  add  that  the 
event  is  still  vividly  fixed  upon  my  mind, — that  it  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  give  any  weight  to  the  idea  that  I  had 
been  deceived.  I  spent  the  night  in  reading  Fell  on  De- 
moniacs, Scott's  Demonology,  De  Boismont's  Hallucinations, 
Madden's  Phantasmata,  Dendy's  Philosophy  of  Mystery, 
and  dozens  of  similar  works.  I  have  thus  come  across  sev- 
eral cases  similar  to  mine,  but  none  exactly  resembling  it. 


83  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

I  find  to-night,  too,  that  I  am  still  unable  to  write  what  I 
wish.  My  pen  is  as  erratic  as  an  insane  man's  speech,  and 
altogether  I  am  about  as  confused  and  as  wretched  an  indi- 
vidual as  you  ever  had  for  a  patient.  Now  what  is  to  be 
done  ?  Am  I  insane  or  not  ?  Have  I  seen  my  wife's 
spirit,  or  only  the  creation  of  a  morbid  imagination?  My 
dear  Lawrence,  I  have  told  you  all,  and  I  place  myself 
entirely  in  your  hands.  Do  with  me  as  you  will.  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say,  except  to  tell  you  that  I  have  had 
several  interviews  with  my  agent,  Mr.  Freeling,  relative  to 
my  wife,  and  the  terms  to  offer  her.  I  have  also  partly  ar- 
ranged for  my  departure  from  New  York,  whether  she 
accepted  them  or  not.  I  think  I  acquitted  myself  well  in  all 
these  conferences.  Somehow,  intercourse  with  that  man 
always  rouses  my  faculties  into  keen  action." 

Lawrence  had  listened  with  the  utmost  attention  to  Sev- 
erne's  recital.  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  his  friend 
was  laboring  under  a  hallucination,  and  that  consequently 
he  had  seen  nothing  at  all  but  the  unsubstantial  images 
framed  in  his  own  mind.  He  knew  well  that  the  overtasked 
brain  is  often  unable  to  rest  after  it  has  been  goaded  into 
straining  every  fiber  to  perform  labor  in  a  day  for  which  a 
week  should  have  been  allowed,  and  that  at  such  times  it 
riots  amid  phantoms  and  scenes  which  exist  only  in  its  own 
unfathomable  caverns.  He  had  long  foreseen  to  what  Sev- 
erne's  habits  of  application  would  inevitably  lead  him,  and 
though  he  was  distressed  at  what  his  friend  had  suffered,  he 
was  thankful  it  was  no  worse.  He  perceived  that  Severne 
was  alarmed  and  bewildered,  that  there  was  a  conflict  going 
on  in  his  mind  relative  to  the  true  interpretation  to  be  placed 
upon  the  phenomena  which  had  been  manifested.  Law- 
rence, who  knew  all  the  circumstances  of  Mrs.  Severne's 
death  better  even  than  did  her  husband,  knew  also  that  it 
was  impossible  she  could  be  alive.  The  spiritual  aspect  of 
the  question  he  regarded  as  altogether  ridiculous.  He  was 
confident,  therefore,  that  in  a  few  words  he  would  be  able  to 
convince  his  friend  of  the  real  nature  of  his  visitations,  and 
that  he  could  also  be  relieved  from  any  further  onslaughts 
of  a  similar  character.  While  he  was  cogitating  over  the 
matter,  Wilson  entered  the  room  with  the  coffee,  which, 
having  placed  upon  a  table,  he  was  about  to  retire,  when  his 
master  said : 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  89 

"  You  saw  the  lady  who  came  here  last  Tuesday  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Would  you  know  her  again  if  you  were  to  see  her  ?" 

"Certainly,  sir.  She  was  here  a  few  moments  ago;  but 
as  you  told  me  you  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed,  I  requested 
her  to  come  again  to-morrow." 

Severne  looked  at  Lawrence;  but  the  latter,  not  appearing 
to  notice  his  glance,  said  : 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  Wilson  a  few  questions  ?" 

"Certainly,  Lawrence;  ask  him  as  many  as  you  please." 

"  Do  you  know  this  woman,  Wilson  ?"  remarked  Lawrence, 
very  quietly. 

"Only  by  sight,  sir." 

"Does  she  look  like  a  lady?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir  !  She  was  quite  a  common-looking  woman, 
sir." 

"Did  she  tell  you  her  business  ?" 

"I  did  not  ask  her  that,  sir ;  but  to-night  she  said  some- 
thing about  Mr.  Severne  being  very  anxious  to  get  the  in- 
formation she  had  for  him,  and  that  the  last  time  she  was 
here  he  was  ill,  she  thought,  and  she  did  not  like  to  trouble 
him." 

"And  you  obtained  no  idea  in  regard  to  the  character  of 
this  intelligence  ?" 

"  Nothing  more,  sir,  than  that  she  was,  as  she  said,  the 
mother  of  the  little  beggar  girl  that  used  to  go  to  Mr.  Bar- 
ton's for  cold  victuals,  and  that  she  had  something  to  tell 
Mr.  Severne,  which  he  wanted  to  know." 

"Very  well,  Wilson.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you;  that 
will  do." 

Severne  could  scarcely  wait  till  Wilson  had  left  the  room, 
before  he  exclaimed: 

"  Why,  good  heavens  1  is  it  possible  she  has  the  informa- 
tion of  which  I  have  been  in  search  for  the  last  six  months  ? 
She  can  doubtless  tell  me  all  about  Sarah  Tompkins." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  who  Sarah  Tompkins  may  be, 
my  dear  Severne;  but  this  I  do  know, — that  you  have 
uursed  a  phantom  of  your  own  creation.  In  two  instances 
you  have  probably  seen  nothing,  and  in  the  other  you  have 
mistaken  a  woman  of  very  different  appearance  for  your 
wife,  and  have  even  misinterpreted  her  conversation  with 


90  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

you.  Snch  things  are  not  uncommon.  I  have  had  several 
cases  similar  to  yours  under  my  professional  charge,  all  of 
which  were  clearly  traceable  to  like  causes.  The  most  inter- 
esting feature,  however,  in  your  condition,  is  the  loss  of  the 
power  to  write  what  you  think.  It  is  certainly  very  remark- 
able. But  even  this  is  not  an  isolated  instance,  for  I  am  now 
attending  a  gentleman  who  has  precisely  the  same  difficulty, 
the  direct  consequence  of  excessive  mental  occupation.  Now, 
I  regard  it  as  of  the  utmost  importance  that  you  should  see 
this  whole  matter  in  its  true  light.  You  have  misused  your 
intellectual  powers,  and  you  are  now  experiencing  the  le- 
gitimate results  of  your  indiscretion.  You  will  do  me  the 
justice  to  admit  that  I  warned  you  of  the  inevitable  effects 
of  the  causes  you  put  in  action.  I  wish  now  to  convince 
you  thoroughly  that  you  are  the  victim  of  your  own  folly. 
You  see,  I  am  calling  things  by  their  right  names.  It  would 
be  mistaken  friendship  for  me  to  spare  you. 

"In  the  first  place,  then,  it  is  impossible  that  you  could 
have  seen  the  late  Mrs.  Severne.  The  dose  of  poison  which 
she  took  was  large  enough  to  kill  a  dozen  people.  And  I 
need  not  remind  you  of  what  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that 
I  was  present  at  the  post-mortem  examination,  and  there- 
fore know  that  she  is  dead.  This  part  of  the  question  does 
not  admit  of  argument,  and  we  will  not,  therefore,  discuss  it 
further.  It  was  very  absurd  in  you  to  entertain  the  idea 
for  a  moment. 

"As  to  the  spiritual  hypothesis,  I  leave  that  entirely  to 
your  own  good  sense.  Whether  there  are  spirits  or  not, 
who  are  able  to  make  themselves  visible  at  pleasure,  is  a 
question  we  will  not  now  stop  to  argue.  With  me  it  in- 
volves a  contradiction  of  terms.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to 
prove  by  direct  testimony  that  you  did  not  see  a  spirit ;  but 
it  is  still  more  difficult  for  you  to  establish  the  fact  that  you 
did.  If  you  have,  however,  any  lingering  idea  that  you 
"have  been  visited  by  a  ghost,  I  think  you  will  get  rid  of  it 
before  very  long.  I  promise  to  cure  you  of  that  and  of  all 
other  phantom  visitations,  if  you  will  do  what  I  advise." 

"I  have  said,  Lawrence,  that  I  place  myself  entirely  in 
your  hands.  You  will  find  me  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  I  begin 
to  think  I  have  made  an  ass  of  myself." 

"  That  is  the  most  suitable  frame  of  mind  for  you  to  be 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  91 

in,"  said  Lawrence,  smiling.  "But,  my  dear  friend,  let  us 
be  serious,"  he  continued,  with  gravity.  "  You  have  had  a 
narrow  escape,  and  it  will  require  your  thorough  co-oper- 
ation to  extricate  you  from  your  difficulty.  Without  that,  I 
can  do  nothing  for  you.  Two  things  are  essential  on  your 
part.  You  must  stop  work,  and  you  must  travel.  As  to 
the  medical  treatment,  it  will  be  very  simple.  I  shall  not 
drug  you  to  death,  depend  upon  it." 

"I  took  it  for  granted,"  said  Severne,  "that  you  would 
insist  upon  my  .leaving  off  my  studies.  I  am  prepared,  there- 
fore, to  submit  to  this  condition.  In  my  present  state  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  do  anything  in  that  direction,  and  I 
agree  with  you  entirely  in  the  view  that  if  it  lasts  much 
longer  I  shall  lose  my  reason  altogether.  As  to  the  travel, 
I  am  ready  for  that,  too.  The  preparations  I  have  made, 
therefore,  will  not  come  amiss.  I  have  one  condition,  how- 
ever, to  insist  upon,  and  that  is  that  you  shall  give  me  the 
pleasure  of  your  company,  and  the  benefit  of  your  advice, 
during  my  wanderings." 

"I  will  not  say  no,  absolutely,"  replied  Lawrence,  "but 
I  am  not  prepared  to  give  an  affirmative  answer  yet.  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  wishing  me  to  go  with 
you,  and  I  assure  you  nothing  would  give  me  greater  de- 
light. We  will  talk  that  part  of  the  matter  over  again, 
and,  in  the  mean  time,  I  must  ask  you  a  number  of  ques- 
tions in  regard  to  your  condition." 

Lawrence  examined  Severne  with  great  minuteness,  and 
thus  obtained  a  very  correct  idea  of  his  friend's  disorder. 
There  were  some  symptoms  which  gave  him  a  little  uneasi- 
ness, and  which  it  was  necessary  should  be  immediately  re- 
lieved. Every  circumstance  brought  to  light,  showed  the 
fearfully  excited  condition  of  Severne's  mind,  and  more  and 
more  confirmed  Lawrence  in  the  judgment  he  had  formed. 
Having  given  his  directions  and  left  a  prescription  to  be 
filled,  Lawrence  took  his  departure,  promising  to  repeat  his 
visit  the  ensuing  day.  It  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
Severne  should  obtain  a  good,  sound  sleep  immediately,  and 
Lawrence's  treatment  was  of  a  character  to  produce  this 
result.  Had  he  evinced  the  least  desire  to  be  enlightened, 
Severne  would  have  related  to  him  all  he  knew  about  Sarah 
Tornpkins  and  his  previous  relation  to  this  young  woman. 


92  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

It  was  no  part  of  Lawrence's  plan,  however,  to  allow  his 
patient  to  excite  himself  further  that  night.  He  saw  that  there 
was  something  which  interested  Severne  very  much,  and  he 
hoped,  when  the  proper  time  came,  to  make  use  of  it  to  direct 
his  thoughts  and  energies  into  another  channel. 

As  Lawrence  walked  home,  he  thought  of  what  Severne 
had  proposed  relative  to  their  traveling  together.  Nothing 
but  friendship  could  have  induced  Lawrence  to  think  of 
leaving  New  York  at  a  time  when  he  was  rapidly  rising 
into  a  large  and  lucrative  practice.  But  the  more  he  thought 
of  Severne's  proposition,  the  more  he  was  inclined  to  yield 
to  his  friend's  wishes  in  the  matter.  He  knew  that  he  could 
be  of  the  greatest  possible  advantage  to  Severne,  both  as  a 
companion  and  a  physician  ;  and  besides,  he  was  apprehen- 
sive that  if  he  refused,  Severne  would  reject  his  advice  and 
relapse  into  those  habits  which  had  already  brought  him  into 
a  very  critical  condition.  He  therefore  resolved  that  if  any- 
thing further  was  said  on  the  subject  by  Severne,  he  would 
accept  his  invitation.  The  route  to  take  was  still  a  subject 
for  discussion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MRS.  WIGGINS    SPEAKS. 

THE  following  morning,  when  Lawrence  paid  his  visit  to 
Severne,  he  found  that  for  the  first  time  in  several  months 
his  friend  had  slept  soundly  the  whole  night  through,  and 
was  in  consequence  very  much  refreshed  both  in  body  and 
mind.  No  phantom  Francisca  had  visited  the  patient,  nor 
had  his  imagination  conjured  up  any  other  visions  to  dis- 
turb his  slumbers.  One  step  was  therefore  gained,  and 
Lawrence  now  felt  assured  that  time  and  change  of  asso- 
ciations would  give  to  Severne  better  health  than  he  had 
enjoyed  for  several  years.  In  conversing  together  rela- 
tive to  past  events  and  future  plans,  Lawrence  discovered 
that  Severne  was  not  disposed  to  undertake  any  extensive 
journey  unless  he  accompanied  him.  Severne's  arguments 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  93 

in  support  of  his  wishes  were  really  so  strong,  and  were 
urged  with  so  much  warmth  and  appreciation  of  Lawrence's 
friendship  and  abilities,  that  compliance  could  not  be  with- 
held. 

The  matter,  too,  was  placed  in  such  a  position  pecuni- 
arily, as  regarded  Lawrence,  that  he  was  not  able  even  to 
mention  the  obstacle  which  he  had  supposed  to  be  almost 
insurmountable. 

Relative  to  the  direction  in  which  their  travels  should  be 
made,  the  discussion  was  long  and  animated.  Both  had 
overrun  Europe  pretty  thoroughly,  and  though,  on  some 
accounts,  it  would  have  been  preferable  to  other  parts  of  the 
earth's  surface,  Lawrence  thought  that  entire  novelty  should 
be,  if  possible,  secured.  The  claims  of  a  yacht  voyage  to 
the  North  Pole,  a  journey  through  Mexico,  North  Amer- 
ica, or  Australia,  were  severally  considered  and  rejected  for 
divers  good  and  sufficient  reasons. 

"Come,"  said  Severne,  "at  last  I  have  it.  We  will  go 
across  the  Continent  to  San  Francisco,  thence  to  China  and 
India,  and  back  through  Egypt  and  Europe  to  New  York. 
This  will  give  us  an  endless  variety,  and  will  fully  occupy 
my  probationary  six  months.  What  do  you  say  to  this 
idea?" 

"  Nothing  having  the  semblance  of  an  objection,"  re- 
plied Lawrence.  "  On  the  contrary,  it  strikes  me  with  a 
great  deal  more  favor  than  any  yet  brought  forward  by 
either  of  us.  We  shall  doubtless  enjoy  it  very  much.  But 
consider,  my  dear  Severne,  that  the  journey  you  propose 
will  in  some  parts  be  tiresome  and  fatiguing.  Are  you  pre- 
pared for  all  this  ?" 

"  Fully,"  answered  Severne.  "  I  wish  to  be  tired  and 
fatigued  in  just  that  way.  So  we  will  consider  the  matter 
as  settled.  Leave  all  the  preparations  to  me.  It  will  give 
me  occupation  till  the  time  of  our  departure  comes.  Settle 
up  all  your  affairs,  and  be  ready  to  start  in  a  couple  of 
weeks.  Is  there  any  objection,  in  a  sanitary  point  of  view, 
to  my  taking  a  walk  down  town  this  morning  ?" 

"  None  in  the  least.  Do  what  you  please  so  that  you 
keep  your  thoughts  far  removed  from  your  usual  studies. 
Don't  write  more  than  you  can  help  at  present,  and  read 
nothing  but  novels.  By-the-by.,  talking  of  writing,  what 

9* 


94  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

have  you  done  with  that  precious  confession  you  wrote  the 
other  day  ?  You  ought  to  take  care  that  no  enemy  gets 
hold  of  it.  Many  men  have  been  hanged  on  less  evidence 
than  that." 

"  I  have  it  here  in  my  port- folio,  and  intend  to  keep  it  as 
a  memorial  of  the  asinine  condition  from  which  I  have  just 
emerged." 

"You  had  better  destroy  it.  No  man  is  safe  with  such  a 
document  relating  to  him  in  existence.  Give  it  to  me  and 
I  will  take  care  that  it  is  never  seen  again." 

"  Take  it,  since  you  insist  upon  it,"  said  Severne,  laugh- 
ing, and  opening  his  port-folio,  he  handed  a  folded  note  to 
Lawrence.  The  latter  went  to  the  mantle-piece,  and  taking 
a  match  from  a  cigar -stand  which  stood  upon  it,  struck  a 
light,  and  setting  fire  to  the  note  which  Severne  had  given 
him,  watched  it  till  it  was  entirely  consumed. 

"It  is  best,"  he  said,  "to  get  rid  of  all  such  papers. 
One  never  knows  who  his  friends  are  in  this  world;  and 
there  may  be  some  people  about  you,  Severne,  to  whom 
such  a  piece  of  paper  would  have  been  a  treasure.  I  don't 
think  you  have  many  friends,  my  dear  fellow.  I  believe 
you  told  me  once  you  did  not  form  acquaintances  readily. 
How  is  it  ?  Do  you  still  confine  yourself  to  John  Holmes 
and  me  ?" 

"  To  John  Holmes  and  you,  Lawrence,  with  the  addition 
of  Goodall,  whom  I  never  really  got  to  know  well  till  a  few 
months  since.  He  is  worthy  to  be  the  friend  of  the  best 
man  on  this  earth,  let  alone  such  a  miserable,  semi-insane 
wretch  as  I  am.  I  shall  pay  them  a  visit  to-day.  It  is  a 
glorious  place,  that  old  shop.  And  now,  talking  of  friends, 
I  must  tell  you  how  I  have  failed  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  a  young  woman  with  whom  we  were  both  interested  on 
one  occasion." 

Severne  then  related  in  full  his  adventure  with  Sarah 
Tompkins,  six  months  ago,  in  the  Fifth  Avenue,  and  his 
subsequent  attempts  to  discover  her  whereabouts. 

"  I  presume  I  am  about  to  obtain  some  knowledge  of 
her,"  he  continued,  "judging  from  what  Wilson  told  us 
last  night  of  my  recent  female  visitor  and  her  business.  If 
I  should  succeed  in  finding  her  now,  I  scarcely  know  what 
I  should  do  with  her.  There  is  no  one  whom  I  could  in- 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  95 

trust  with  her  education.  How  would  it  answer  to  take 
her  with  us  ?" 

"  It  would  not  answer  at  all,  ray  dear  Severne,"  said 
Lawrence,  emphatically.  "What  would  the  world  say  to  see 
us  going  all  over  its  dominions  with  a  young  girl  in  our 
charge  ?" 

"I  don't  care  a  sixpence  what  the  world  would  say,"  re- 
plied Severne.  "I  have  lived  long  enough,  and  seen  enough 
of  its  wickedness  and  hypocrisy,  to  do  what  I  please,  re- 
gardless of  its  ,muttered  murmurs  or  open  denunciations. 
Your  disapproval  of  it  is  quite  sufficient  for  me.  As  to  the 
world,  it  may  go  to  the  devil.  What,  then,  shall  I  do  with 
the  young  woman  ?" 

"You  are  the  most  energetic  man,  when  you  get  an  idea 
into  your  head,  I  ever  saw.  First,  get  your  young  woman. 
You  seem  to  think  that  you  have  only  to  say  '  Sarah,  be- 
hold the  beauties  of  virtue ;  see  what  a  delight  it  is  to  learn 
geography  and  grammar,  to  stammer  in  French  and  Italian, 
to  seek  to  ascertain  the  connection  between  mind  and  mat- 
ter, to  finger  the  piano,  and  to  dance  gracefully !'  to  make 
her  rush  into  your  arms  and  beg  to  be  taught  to  compre- 
hend the  mysteries  of  science,  art,  and  good  breeding. 
From  what  you  have  told  me  of  Miss  Sarah,  added  to  what 
I  saw  with  my  own  eyes,  I  am  decidedly  of  the  opinion  that 
she  is  no  fool.  You  will  not  induce  her  to  enter  your  net 
unless  you  can  make  the  future  appear  more  inviting  to  her 
than  you  are  likely  to  make  it  look  to  her  through  the 
medium  of  a  boarding-school  and  the  loss  of  her  liberty. 
If  yon  succeed  in  enticing  her  into  your  snare,  she  will  run 
away  in  a  week  unless  you  can  get  her  heart  enlisted  in  the 
affair." 

"And  that  is  exactly  what  I  want  to  do.  I  neither  wish 
to  make  her  a  prisoner  nor  a  slave.  I  want  to  gain  her 
good  will,  perhaps  her  love." 

"Oh!  that's  it,  is  it?"  exclaimed  Lawrence,  laughing. 
"You  had  better  marry  her." 

"  Perhaps  I  will  some  day.  Who  knows  ?  I  might  do 
much  worse.  And  if  I  can  mould  her  disposition  and  refine 
her  nature  up  to  my  standard,  I  see  no  reason  why  she 
would  not  make  me  a  very  good  wife." 

"Get  her  first,  ray  worthy  philanthropist,  and  then  we 


96  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

will  discuss  what  is  best  to  be  done  with  her.  In  the  mean 
time  don't  think  that  I  am  endeavoring  to  throw  cold  water 
on  your  schemes  for  educating  Miss  Tompkins  in  the  social 
and  intellectual  scales  of  humanity.  On  the  contrary,  if  I 
can  be  of  any  assistance  to  you  in  finding  her,  my  services 
are  at  your  disposal." 

"  Thank  you,  Lawrence.  I  expect  the  woman  here  this 
morning  who  has  already  called  twice  to  give  me  some  in- 
formation in  regard  to  this  girl.  She  will  doubtless  be  able 
to  tell  me  where  she  lives.  If  I  can  once  get  to  see  her, 
and  talk  with  her  freely,  I  do  not  anticipate  much  difficulty 
in  gaining  her  consent  to' my  plans." 

While  Severne  was  speaking,  Wilson  entered  the  room, 
and,  as  soon  as  his  master  had  finished  his  remarks,  an- 
nounced that  the  woman  in  question  was  then  waiting  to 
see  him.  Severne  bid  him  show  her  up,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments a  tall,  gaunt  female  was  ushered  into  the  apartment. 
Lawrence,  who  had  known  the  late  Mrs.  Severne,  could 
scarcely  restrain  a  smile  as  he  thought  of  his  friend  having 
likened  this  coarse-looking  Amazon  before  him  to  the  grace- 
ful and  beautiful  figure  of  his  deceased  wife. 

Severne  requested  his  visitor  to  be  seated,  and  then  in- 
quired her  business. 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  sir,  twice,  about  a  young  woman  you 
was  wantin'  to  find.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  goin'  away  the 
first  time,  but  I  thought  you  was  not  well,  sir,  and " 

"Never  mind  about  that,  my  good  woman," said  Severne, 
interrupting  her.  "  I  was  not  at  all  well,  as  you  very 
rightly  supposed.  Now  tell  me  what  you  know  about 
Sarah,  or  Sal  Tompkins,  as  I  presume  you  call  her." 

"Yes,  sir,  Sal'is  the  name  as  we  knows  her  by.  I  raised 
that  girl,  sir,  till  she  was  growed  up,  and  so  I  ought  to 
know  her;  not  to  say  as  she's  any  kin  of  mine,  sir.  My 
name's  Mary  Wiggins,  sir,  and  my  husband's  name  John 
Wiggins;  and  if  you  choose  to  go  to  Number  479  Watts 
Street,  there's  folks  there  as  will  tell  you  we  was  always 
honest  people,  gainin'  our  livin'  by  hard  work  six  days  in 
the  week,  and  restin'  on  the  seventh  day,  as  the  Lord  com- 
manded. We  has  always  been  members  of  the  Latter-Day 
Baptist  persuasion,  and  I  told  John  yesterday,  'John,'  says 
I,  'we  ain't  got  no  riches  to  speak  of,  nor  much  learnin', 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  97 

but  we  has  always  been  rich  in  grace  and  learned  in  the 
Lord,  thanks  be  praised  !'  And  John  said,  says  he, — John's 
a  cripple  now,  sir;  he  got  very  old  in  the  shoemakin'  busi- 
ness, and  his  bones  growed  very  brittle  from  age,  and  so 
one  day  he  broke  his  thigh-bone,  sir,  a  hammerin'  on  his 
lapstone  overhard,  and  the  doctor  set  it  crooked;  and  since 
then  he  had  to  give  up  work,  and  I  gains  a  livin'  for  him 
and  me  and  my  little  girl  a  sewin',  and  she — that's  Marthy — 
gets  cold  victuals  around  from  those  as  will  give  them  to 
her, — John  says,  says  he,  'Mary,  what  you  say  is  true,'  says 
he;  'we  are  onfy  poor,  ignorant  servants  of  the  Lord,  but 
our  treasures  is  laid  up  in  heaven,  where  neither  moth  nor 
rust  does  corrupt,  and  where  nobody  breaks  through  nor 
steals.'  And  then  says  I.  'John,'  says  I,  'do  you  know 

J  J  J 

what  Brother  Jenkins  used  to  say  when  he  came  to  the 
house  to  exhort  you  and  to  comfort  you  in  grace  when  your 
leg  was  broke?  "Wiggins,"  says  he,  "if  the  sole  is  all 
right,  the  uppers  is  nothing  to  nobody."'  Which  is  true, 
allowin'  as  it  was  John's  lowers  as  was  broke  and  not  his 
uppers." 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Severne,  impatiently,  while 
Lawrence  was  exceedingly  amused  with  the  loquacity  of  his 
visitor,  "  I  am  very  sorry  you  have  had  so  much  affliction, 
and  are  in  such  reduced  circumstances.  Accept  this  as  an 
evidence  of  my  desire  to  help  you,  and  tell  me  at  once  all 
you  know  of  Sal  Tompkins." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Wiggins,  as  she  took  the  gold 
piece  Severne  put  in  her  hand.  "I  was  cotnin'  to  that. 
You  see,  Sal's  mother  was  no  better  than  she  should  be; 
not  that  I  should  say  anything  against  her.  We  is  all  sin- 
ful creatures,  and  merits  eternal  fire,  as  Brother  Jenkins 
used  to  say;  and  I  always  remembers,  'judge  not  that  ye  be 
not  judged.'  But  you  see,  sir,  Sal's  mother,  that  was  Julia 
Tompkins,  lived  not  far  from  my  old  man's  shop,  and  she 
used  to  get  her  shoes  from  him.  She  always  was  a  good 
customer,  for  she  got  fine  shoes,  better  nor  those  John  made 
in  usual,  and  he  always  got  French  Bill  to  help  him  with 
Julia's  shoes.  French  Bill  was  a  Frenchman,  sir,  as  you 
might  guess  from  his  name,  which  was  Bill.  And  one  day 
Julia  came  into  the  shop,  and,  while  John  was  a  measurin' 
her — John  always  said  Julia  Tompkins  had  the  smallest 


98  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

foot  of  any  woman  as  came  to  him  for  shoes,  and  her  stock- 
in's  was  always  clean,  and  I  says  'its  all  nothing  but 
vanity,' John,  says  I.  'The  Lord  is  not  goin'  to  measure 
our  feet  when  we  knock  at  the  door  and  ask  admittance  into 
His  kingdom,'  because  you  know,  sir,  John  was  always  a 
talkin'  of  Julia  Tompkins's  foot,  and  I  felt  riled  like;  not  as 
I  cared,  you  see,  neither;  for  we  don't  make  our  own  feet, 
and  them  as  finds  fault  with  our  feet  finds  fault  with  the 
Lord  as  made  them,  and  not  we  ourselves.  And  as  to 
stockin's,  if  my  feet  was  big,  my  stockin's  was  as  clean  as 
Julia  Tompkins's  or  any  other  woman's.  And  so  yon  see, 
sir,  while  John  was  a  measurin'  her  for  a  pair  of  shoes,  says 
she,  '  Mr.  .Wiggins,  would  you  like  to  have  a  little  baby  ?' 
and,  says  John,  '  What  ?'  says  he.  'A  little  baby,'  says  Julia. 
Now,  you  see,  sir,  we  had  been  married  over  eleven  years, 
and  the  Lord  had  not  seen  fit  to  give  us  a  little  baby  of  our 
own  ;  not  as  He  didn't  do  so  afterward  ;  for  after  John  broke 
his  leg  and  could  not  work  at  his  trade  any  longer,  my  little 
Marthy  was  born.  And  there  was  no  doctor  as  could  be 
had  in  time,  but  John's  sister,  Jane  Wiggins,  as  keeps  a 
boardin'-house  in  King  Street.  '  To  think  as  it  should  be 
a  stoppin'  shoemakin','  says  she,  'as  did  it!'"  • 

"Mrs.  Wiggins,"  said  Severue,  interrupting  her,  "I 
really  cannot  see  what  all  this  has  to  do  with  the  informa- 
tion I  desire.  If  you  know  where  Sal  Tompkins  lives,  and 
will  tell  me,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you,  and  will 
amply  recompense  you  for  all  the  trouble  you  have  been  put 
to  in  the  matter." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  sir,  your  time  is  precious  to  you  just  as 
mine  is  to  me,  but  I'll  come  to  it  at  once,  sir.  John  was 
staggered,  you  see,  sir,  when  Julia  asked  him  about  the 
baby,  and,  says  he,  'I'll  ask  Mary;'  and,  says  Julia,  'I'm 
goin'  away,  Mr.  Wiggins,  to  a  far  distant  land,  and  I've  got 
a  little  daughter  as  is  named  Sarah,  and  them  that  takes 
care  of  her  till  I  come  back,  gets  one  hundred  dollars  in 
gold,  all  down  cash.  Her  father's  a  gentleman,  and  a  rich 
one,  too  !'  And  John  told  Julia  to  call  again  the  next  day 
for  an  answer;  and  that  night,  as  John  sat  at  the  table 
readin,'  says  he  all  of  a  sudden,  'Mary,'  says  he,  'would 
you  like  to  have  a  little  baby  ?'  and  says  I,  quite  quiet-like, 
'Yes,  if  the  Lord  pleases;'  and  says  he,  '  I've  got  a  little 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  99 

baby  for  you  as  is  Julia  Torapkins's;'  and  says  I,  firin'  up, 
for  I  miscomprehended,  you  see,  sir, — says  I,  'Ain't  you 
ashamed  to  insult  me  in  my  own  house  ?'  and  then  I 
burst  out  a  cryin',  and  says  he,  '  What  do  you  mean  ?'  says 
he;  and  says  I,  'To  think  that  I  should  live  for  this !'  But 
it  all  comes  of  Julia  Tompkins's  foot;  and  says  John, 
gettiu'  mad,  'You're  a  fool,  Mary!'  and  says  I,  'I  may  be 
a  fool,  but  I'm  an  honest  woman,  which  is  more  than  you 
can  say  for  your  Julia  Tompkins.'  And  then  John  saw  how 
my  feeliu's  was  hrnrt,  and  he  told  me  all  about  it,  and  so  we 
agreed  to  take  care  of  Julia  Tompkins's  little  girl  till  she 
came  back,  which  she  never  did  to  this  day." 

"And  you  took  care  of  her  how  long  ?"  said  Severne. 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,  after  John  broke  his  leg,  and  my 
little  Marthy  was  born,  and  Julia  Tompkins  didn't  come 
back,  and  the  hundred  dollars  was  long  used  up  and  we 
was  very  poor,  I  took  Sal  away  from  school,  for  you  see,  sir, 
she  had  to  work  like  the  rest  of  us.  I  sent  her  to  Sunday- 
school  and  to  day  school,  too,  and  treated  her  just  as  if  she 
was  my  own  child.  And  she  was  a  very  good  child,  too, 
till  I  had  to  send  her  out  to  get  her  own  livin',  which  she 
did  at  a  bookbinder's,  earniu'  two  dollars  a  week.  And 
then  she  learnt  bad  ways ;  and  a  year  ago,  she  said  she  was 
goiu'  to  live  at  another  house  of  her  own,  which  she  did, 
but  she  often  comes  to  see  me,  and  brings  me  a  little  money 
now  and  then,  which  is  very  kind  in  her  not  to  forget  her 
old  friends,  as  has  not  forgotten  her.  But  I  could  cry,  sir, 
when  I  think  of  Sal's  way  of  livin',  which  is  no  better  than 
that  of  her  mother  before  her.  But  what  can  I  do,  sir,  with 
John  a  cripple,  and  my  livin'  to  make,  and  a  felon  on  my 
tinger  as  has  given  me  the  misery  off  and  on  for  seventeen 
days  and  nights  ?  Not  as  I  am  complainin',  sir,  but " 

"Did  you  never  hear  anything  of  Sal's  father?"  said 
Severne,  interrupting  her. 

"  Never  a  word,  sir.  Julia  left  the  day  after  she  brought 
her  little  baby  to  us,  which  was  only  six  months  old,  and 
had  to  be  raised  by  hand,  and " 

"Yes,"  said^Severne,  "I  can  understand  the  trouble  you 
must  have  had;  but  now  tell  me  where  Sal  lives." 

"Well,  sir,  you  see,"  said  Mrs.  Wiggins,  starting  off  on  a 
new  tack  with  great  energy,  "my  little  Marthy,  as  goes  to 


100  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

Mr.  Barton's  for  cold  victuals  and  such  like,  took  sick  with 
the  fever.as  Dr.  Wimble  said  was  a  pneuraony  on  the  lungs. 
I  don't  know,  sir,  as  you  knows  Dr.  Wimble.  He's  been 
our  doctor  for  a  long  time,  and  he  only  charges  twenty-five 
cents  each  time  he  comes,  and  leaves  lots  of  medicine  be- 
sides. To  be  sure,  I  had  to  get  a  mustard  plaster  for 
Marthy's  breast,  which  cost  me  six  cents ;  but  then  the 
doctor  gave  her  all  the  calamy  and  rhubarb  and  drops  which 
was  wanted.  He  just  looked  at  her  once  the  first  time,  and 
says  he,  ' Mrs.  Wiggins,' says  he,  'Marthy's  got  the  pneu- 
mony  on  her  lungs ;  it's  a  awful  complaint,  and  lots  of  children 
dies  of  it,  but  I  understand  this  disease  particular  well,  and 
I'll  save  her.  I  shall  call  eight  times,  Mrs.  Wiggins,  which 
is  just  two  dollars.'  I  gave  him  the  money  right  off,  though 
I  had  to  take  all  I  had  made  that  week;  but  Dr.  Wimble 
says  he  don't  bind  himself  by  no  rules,  for  doctors  as  reads 
much  learns  little.  He's  a  seventh  son,  too,  and  I  knowed 
he  was  gifted ;  but  for  all  that,  Marthy  got  worse,  and  Dr. 
Wimble  had  to  go  to  the  country  to  see  an  old  man  as 
couldn't  come  to  him,  and  so  I  took  Marthy  round  to  the 
dispensary,  and  the  doctor  there  sounded  her  lungs,  and  felt 
her  pulse,  and  asked  me  a  great  many  questions,  but  didn't 
give  me  any  medicine  for  her,  only  an  order  for  some  wine, 
and  told  me  to  give  her  plenty  of  milk  and  beef  tea,  too, 
which  he  sent  me,  and  Marthy  begun  to  get  well  right  off; 
and  Dr.  Wimble  says  it  was  the  workin'  of  the  calamy  and 
the  drops  he  gave  her,  and  I  guess  as  how  he's  right,  for  I 
got  no  medicine  at  all  from  the  dispensary." 

"  Very  well,  Mrs.  Wiggins,"  said  Severne,  who  bad  been 
laughing  with  Lawrence  at  her  description  of  Dr.  Wimble. 
"  It  is  all  very  interesting  indeed.  I  am  glad  Martha  got 
well.  Now  tell  me,  please,  where  Sarah  lives." 

"Well,  sir,  that's  just  what  I'm  doing.  You  see,  Marthy 
being  sick,  could  not  go  to  Mr.  Barton's  for  cold  victuals 
and  such  like ;  but,  after  she  got  well,  she  went  back,  and 
says  Bridget — that's  Mr.  Barton's  cook — 'Marthy, 'says  she, 
'  there's  a  gentleman  as  wants  to  know  where  a  girl  lives  as 
is  called  Sarah  Tornpkius.'  'I  don't  know  no  such  girl,' 
says  Marthy,  '  but  I  knows  one  as  is  named  Sal  Tompkins.' 
'  That's  her,'  said  Bridget.  '  I  don't  know  exactly  where  she 
lives,'  says  Marthy,  'but  I'll  ask  my  mother.'  And  so  she 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  101 

did;  and  so  I  just  put  on  my  things  and  started  up  to  see 
Bridget,  and  she  told  me  all  about  what  you  wanted,  and 
where  you  lived,  and  here  I  am,  sir." 

"And  where  does  Sarah  Tompkins  live?"  said  Severne, 
impatiently. 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  sir,  I  really  don't  know  exactly.  You 
see,  sir,  last  week  Sal  moved  her  lodgings  somewhere  into 
Wayne  Street;  but  she'll  be  at  our  house  to-night,  and  I'll 
find  it  all  out.  I  could  bring  her  here,  if  you  like ;  for,  says 
I  to  myself,  as  I  came  along  the  other  day,  'Perhaps  the 
gentleman's  Sal's  father;'  but  the  moment  I  laid  eyes  on 
you,  I  said  'No.'  Maybe  you're  her  uncle.  Uncles  often 
looks  for  their  nieces.  Not  long  since " 

"No,"  said  Severne,  "I  am  not  her  uncle,  nor  any  other 
relative.  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  render  her  a  great  ser- 
vice ;  but  you  need  not  mention  this  to  her,  or  tell  her  that 
you  have  had  any  inquiries  made  of  you  in  regard  to  her. 
I  do  not  care  to  have  you  bring  her  here.  I  prefer  to  see. 
her  at  her  own  lodgings.  And  now  I  must  bid  you  good 
morning.  Here  is  some  money  for  you,  and  if  you  follow 
my  directions  I  will  give  you  more." 

Mrs.  Wiggins  took  the  money  he  gave  her,  and  was  pro- 
fuse in  her  thanks.  She  would  have  gone  off  on  another 
conversational  tour  if  Severne  had  not  rendered  it  very  evi- 
dent to  even  her  comprehension  that  he  desired  her  to  leave ; 
so  making  a  profound  courtesy  to  him  and  Lawrence,  she 
took  her  departure,  with  the  understanding  that  she  was  to 
repeat  her  visit  the  following  day. 

While  Severne  and  Lawrence  were  amusing  themselves 
over  Mrs.  Wiggins,  and  the  former  was  congratulating  him- 
self that  at  last  there  was  a  prospect  of  his  meeting  with  Sarah 
Tompkins,  Mr.  Freeling,  his  attorney  and  agent,  was  an- 
nounced; and  Lawrence,  promising  to  drop  in  again  to- 
ward night,  bid  his  friend  good  morning,  and  resumed  his 
professional  rounds  through  the  city. 


10 


102  ROBERT   SEVER-NE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ME.  FREELINd   APPEARS    AS    A   PROMINENT    CHARACTER   AND    BEGINS 
OPERATIONS. 

MR.  BAGLEY  FREELING  was  one  of  those  sharp,  active, 
capable,  but  unprincipled  men,  met  with  in  the  legal  as  well 
as  in  all  other  professions.  Born  and  educated  in  an  ob- 
scure village,  he  had  grown  up  with  all  the  little  meannesses 
which  were  engrafted  from  birth  upon  his  character,  and 
which  his  pettifogging  legal  practice  was  calculated  to  add 
to  rather  than  diminish.  Finding  that  the  village  in  which 
he  flourished  was  not  of  sufficient  importance  to  afford  him 
full  scope  for  his  talents,  he  had  several  years  ago  fixed  his 
residence  in  New  York,  where,  as  a  Tombs  lawyer,  he  had 
many  opportunities  of  still  further  sharpening  his  faculties. 
Having  acquired  a  sum  of  money  which  rendered  him  to  a 
great  extent  independent  of  his  profession,  he  had  gradually 
been  getting  into  more  reputable  habits,  and  when  Severne 
was  in  search  of  an  attorney  to  take  the  proper  legal  meas- 
ures to  secure  his  estate,  and  to  put  his  property  into  such 
a  shape  as  would  admit  of  easy  management,  Freeling  was 
recommended  to  him.  "  Remember,"  said  the  eminent  legal 
gentleman  whom  he  consulted,  and  who  suggested  Freeling, 
"  I  only  recommend  him  on  the  grounds  of  capacity,  knowl- 
edge, and  a  wonderful  degree  of  astuteness.  I  do  not  vouch 
for  his  honesty,  though  at  the  same  time  I  am  satisfied  that 
if  you  watch  him  closely  enough,  and  let  him  understand  that 
you  are  doing  so,  he  will  not  prove  unfaithful  to  you.  He 
ralues  his  reputation  now  very  much.  He  is  endeavoring  to 
gain  a  good  position  in  society,  and  will  only  steal  or  com- 
mit any  other  disreputable  act  when  he  is  certain  he  will  not 
be  discovered  in  his  rascality." 

With  a  tolerably  full  knowledge  of  the  character  of  the 
man  he  had  to  deal  with,  Severne  had  given  Freeling  a  large 
fee,  and  had  sent  him  to  England  to  secure  the  property 
which  had  fallen  to  him  by  his  father's  death.  The  attorney 


ROBERT   SB  VERNE.  103 

had  managed  this  business  so  well,  and  had  subsequently 
evinced  so  much  sagacity  in  investing  Severne's  surplus  cap- 
ital and  income,  that  the  latter,  though  constantly  mindful 
of  the  advice  he  had  received,  had  formed  the  highest  opin- 
ion of  Freeling's  legal  knowledge  and  business  qualifications, 
and  had  retained  him  as  his  agent.  He  had  not,  however, 
the  least  confidence  in  the  man's  integrity.  Many  little  in- 
cidents convinced  him  that  the  attorney  was  only  honest, 
because  honesty,  was  for  the  time  being  the  best  policy. 
Severne  exercised  a  sound  control  over  all  the  transactions 
which  his  attorney  carried  on  in  his  behalf.  He  hated  to  be 
'cheated,  and  rather  than  be  defrauded  out  of  a  cent  he  would 
sacrifice  hundreds  of  dollars.  He  therefore  trusted  his 
agent  no  further  than  he  could  do  so  with  entire  safety,  and 
as  a  consequence,  Freeliug  received  a  large  salary,  and 
brought  all  his  knowledge  and  enterprise  into  action  for  his 
principal's  benefit. 

Freeling's  appearance  was  by  no  means  prepossessing.  He 
was  short,  thick- set,  and  slightly  lamed  from  an  accident  he 
had  met  with  when  a  boy.  His  eyes  could  not  be  very 
clearly  perceived,  as  he  habitually  wore  spectacles,  But  they 
were  dark,  as  were  also  his  hair  and  beard.  The  latter  he 
wore  long,  shaving  no  part  of  his  face  except  his  upper  lip, 
and  as  his  face  was  large,  and  of  square  form,  his  counte- 
nance had  rather  a  massive  appearance,  but,  at  the  same  time, 
a  sharp  and  vindictive  expression,  as  if  he  were  constantly 
on  the  look-out  for  an  enemy  to  punish. 

Freeling  was  not  a  worshiper  of  God,  although  he  regu- 
larly attended  church,  and  affected  the  most  devout  piety. 
He  found  a  reputation  for  being  religious  useful  to  him. 
But  there  was  an  attribute  of  the  Deity  which  he  placed 
far  above  every  other  thing,  human  or  Divine,  and  before 
which  he  bowed  his  whole  soul  in  unaffected  humility.  It 
was  power.  This  was  his  god.  Wealth  and  love  and 
learning,  for  which  most  men  are  willing  to  labor  unceas- 
ingly till  they  stand  upon  the  verge  of  the  grave,  were  no- 
thing to  him  but  as  means  for  gaining  power.  All  his  toils, 
all  his  energies,  both  of  mind  and  of  body,  centered  around 
this  one  object,  for  which  alone  he  lived. 

He  was  perfectly  consistent  in  his  adoration  of  his  deity. 
He  stopped  at  nothing  when  secrecy  could  be  insured.  No 


104  ROBEKT   SEVERNE. 

lie  was  too  base,  no  treacherous  deed  too  evil,  no  piece  of 
cruelty  too  heartless,  no  fraud  too  disgraceful,  no  act  of 
self-humiliation  too  groveling  to  cause  him  to  shrink  from  its 
perpetration,  if  by  committing  it  he  could  gain  power.  To 
his  superiors  he  was  truckling  and  submissive,  to  his  in- 
feriors, and  especially  his  dependents,  overbearing  and  ty- 
rannical. He  had  been  married,  and  it  was  said  that  his 
wife,  a  gentle,  patient  creature,  whom  he  had  wedded  for  the 
small  fortune  she  possessed,  sank  into  an  early  grave,  unable 
to  contend  with  one  whose  qualities,  undisguised  as  they 
were  in  his  own  home,  were  those  of  a  wild  beast  rather  than 
of  a  human  being. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  a  man  like  Severne,  all  of  whose 
feelings  and  instincts  were  those  of  a  high-toned  gentleman, 
should  voluntarily  bring  such  a  person  as  Freeling  into  inti- 
mate association  with  himself.  But,  in  fact,  the  contact  was 
more  apparent  than  real.  Freeling  knew  no  more  of  his 
employer  socially  than  he  did  of  the  boudoir  of  the  Em- 
press of  Russia.  Severne  never  treated  him  with  the  least 
familiarity.  His  manner  toward  him  was  always  rigidly 
formal  and  polite,  and  Freeling  dared  not  overstep  the  line 
which  separated  him  from  one  whom  he  felt  was  his  master. 

Besides,  in  keeping  Freeling  in  his  employ,  Severne  was 
governed  by  two  chief  motives.  As  a  business  agent,  the 
attorney  had  not  his  equal  in  the  City  of  New  York.  This 
of  itself,  he  thought,  was  a  sufficient  reason.  If  Sigiior 
Pappilini  has  a  magnificent  voice,  and  sings  with  exceeding 
taste  and  expression,  people  will  go  in  crowds  to  hear  him 
in  preference  to  having  their  sense  of  harmony  outraged  by 
listening  to  the  incongruous  sounds  which  issue  from  Mr. 
Beethoven  Rohrer's  throat,  even  though  the  former  be  a 
scamp  of  the  first  water,  and  the  latter  a  most  worthy  mem- 
ber of  society.  They  run  the  risk  of  the  Sigfior  coming 
among  them  after  his  performance,  and  picking  their  pockets. 
If  my  barber  performs  the  duties  of  his  profession  better 
than  any  other  tonsorial  artist  of  my  acquaintance,  I  patron- 
ize him  without  stopping  to  inquire  into  his  moral  character. 
He  may,  some  morning,  cut  my  throat  for  my  purse.  I  take 
my  chance  of  that  rather  than  have  my  face  scarred  by  the 
most  Christian  bungler  that  ever  lived.  Such  is  the  way  of 
the  world,  and  in  the  long  run  it  works  well. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  105 

The  other  reason  was  that  Severne  thoroughly  understood 
Freeling's  character,  and  took  an  interest  in  studying  its 
depths,  and  guarding  against  its  little  eccentricities.  It 
was  both  a  source  of  amusement  and  of  profit  to  him  to 
watch  the  current  of  his  agent's  thoughts.  He  thus  learned 
many  a  practical  lesson  in  psychology,  which  otherwise 
would  have  been  lost  to  him. 

Severne  had  already  perceived  that  Freeling  was  anxiously 
looking  forward  to  the  period  of  his  departure  from  New- 
York,  and  was  evidently  trying  to  induce  his  principal  to 
leave  him  in  entire  charge  of  his  interests.  When  Severne 
had  informed  him  of  his  contemplated  tour,  and  had  given 
him  directions  relative  to  any  demands  the  supposed  Mrs. 
Severne  might  make,  he  noticed  how  eagerly  the  attorney 
took  in  the  scanty  information  which  he  thought  it  necessary 
to  give  him.  He  did  not  previously  know  that  Freeling, 
during  his  stay  in  England,  had  possessed  himself  of  many 
details,  both  false  and  true,  relative  to  that  lady  and  her 
husband,  but  the  extreme  interest  the  agent  evinced  when 
Severne  mentioned  her  name,  and  his  suspicion  that  she  was 
still  alive,  betrayed  him  to  the  watchful  mind  of  his  em- 
ployer, and  put  him  on  his  guard. 

It  was  not  Severne's  intention,  however,  to  vest  any  great 
authority  in  Freeling  during  his  absence.  The  bulk  of  his 
property  he  was  having  arranged  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
require  no  interference  from  the  agent  during  the  six  months' 
tour  which  he  contemplated.  There  were  a  few  matters, 
however,  which  necessarily  required  attention,  but  most  of 
these  he  intended  to  hedge  about  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
it  almost  impossible  for  Freeling  to  act  a  roguish  part  jn 
regard  to  them.  The  rest  he  was  obliged  to  leave  in  his 
attorney's  power,  but  it  was  not  of  sufficient  value  to  induce 
him  to  decamp  with  it,  and  any  dishonest  mismanagement 
was  sure  to  be  detected  when  Severne  returned. 

Severne  had  made  an  appointment  with  Freeling  for  this 
morning,  in  order  to  perfect  details  already  partly  con- 
sidered, and  to  give  some  special  instructions  relative  to 
property  situated  in  the  city.  The  agent  at  the  last  inter- 
view between  them  had  very  clearly  determined  in  his  own 
mind  that  Severne  was  about  leaving  New  York  to  avoid 

10* 


106  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

living  with  his  wife.  The  meeting,  however,  had  confused 
the  clear  mind  which  Mr.  Freeling  ordinarily  possessed. 
He  had  asked  several  questions,  to  which  Severne  paid  no 
attention  whatever,  merely  telling  him  such  matters  as  it 
was  essential  should  be  told  for  the  furtherance  of  his  in- 
structions. That  Mrs.  Severne  should  be  alive  was  a  fact 
for  which  the  attorney  was  not  prepared,  and  that  his  em- 
ployer should  go  so  far  as  to  offer  her  the  bulk  of  his  for- 
tune, under  condition  of  her  ceasing  to  trouble  him  with 
her  presence,  was  marvelous.  He  had  therefore  not  lacked 
food  for  reflection,  and  he  had  already  conceived  several 
plans  for  the  future,  either  of  which,  if  carried  out,  would 
redound  greatly  to  his  advantage.  One  of  these,  which 
struck  him  with  great  force,  was  to  induce  Mrs.  Severne  to 
apply  for  a  divorce  from  her  husband,  and  when  this  was 
secured,  to  pay  court  to  the  lady  with  the  view  of  making 
her  Mrs.  Freeling.  He  knew  that  two-thirds  of  Severne's 
estate  would  be  a  fortune  such  as  he  never  expected  to  have 
under  his  control;  and  with  Severne  absent  and  his  wife 
thrown  into  intimate  association  with  him — as  would  neces- 
sarily be  the  case — he  had  little  doubt  of  being  able  so  to 
adapt  the  means  to  the  end  as  to  insure  the  success  of  his 
scheme.  He  had  accordingly  looked  forward  to  this  inter- 
view with  both  anxiety  and  satisfaction.  He  had  a  difficult 
part  to  play,  but  he  had  confidence  in  his  powers  of  manage- 
ment, and  therefore  when  Wilson  came  to  announce  that 
his  master  was  now  disengaged,  he  ascended  to  the  library 
without  any  foreboding  as  to  the  result.  He  had  a  bundle 
of  papers  in  his  hand,  and  appeared  to  be  looking  at  the 
indorsements  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Freeliug,"  said  Severne.  "  I  will  be  at 
your  service  as  soon  as  I  finish  this  note.  Is  it  warm  out 
this  morning  ?" 

"Very  warm,  sir.  As  I  came  up  Broadway  I  felt  the 
heat  exceedingly.  You  are  not  going  out  of  New  York  a 
day  too  soon.  The  city  is  unendurable. in  hot  weather." 

Mr.  Freeling  had  been  closely  observing  the  condition 
of  affairs  while  making  these  indifferent  remarks.  He  had 
at  once  perceived  that  Severne's  manner  and  appearance 
were  very  much  changed  compared  to  what  they  had  been 
at  the  last  interview.  Before  he  could  altogether  get  the 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  107 

drift  of  matters  as  they  now  stood,  Severne  closed  and 
directed  his  note ;  and  then  giving  his  attention  to  the  busi- 
ness before  him,  said  : 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  make  any  estimate  upon 
which  to  base  a  settlement  on  Mrs.  Severue." 

Freeling  concealed  his  surprise  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
remarked  in  a  very  respectful  manner  : 

"  I  have  not  onJy  made  the  estimate,  sir,  but  I  have  writ- 
ten out  an  opinion  as  to  what  property  it  will  be  best  to 
sell  in  order  to  make  the  settlement,  which  I  understood 
you  to  say  you  preferred  should  be  in  cash." 

"You  are  very  prompt  as  usual,  Mr.  Freeling,  but  I  have 
ascertained  since  yesterday  that  the  supposed  Mrs.  Severne 
was  an  unconscious  impostor." 

"An  impostor!"  exclaimed  Freeling.  "I  hope,  sir,  you 
will  have  her  at  once  arrested." 

"No,  I  shall  not  take  that  trouble,  particularly  as  the 
deceit  was  not  successful.  The  resemblance,  however,  was 
very  great,  and  for  a  time  led  me  into  error." 

"  Then  I  presume,  sir,  that  Mrs.  Severne  is  not  in  exist- 
ence?" 

"And  your  presumption  is  perfectly  correct.  Mrs.  Se- 
verne has,  as  I  have  always  believed  till  a  few  days  past, 
been  dead  several  years." 

Mr.  Freeling  saw  that  one  of  his  cherished  schemes  had 
fallen  at  a  blow ;  still  he  did  not  lose  all  courage  yet.  He 
was  confident  there  was  a  mystery  somewhere,  and  did  not 
for  a  moment  credit  the  version  Severne  had  given  him. 

"  I  scarcely  know,  sir,"  he  said  after  a  little  reflection, 
"  whether  to  congratulate  you  or  not  on  the  termination  of 
the  arrangements  commenced  at  our  last  meeting." 

"It  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  you  should  express  an  opin- 
ion one  way  or  the  other  about  it,"  replied  Severne,  coldly. 
"  I  would  like  to  hear  your  views,  however,  relative  to  selling 
some  stocks.  I  wish  about  fifteen  thousand  dollars  imme- 
diately, and  I  do  not  think  I  have  over  six  or  seven  thou- 
sand at  my  banker's." 

"  There  will  be  more  than  that  sum  due  within  a  month 
from  rents  and  dividends.  And  then  there  are  the  proceeds 
of  the  sale  of  those  Chicago  lots  which  you  authorized  me 
to  make  at  the  prices  offered." 


108  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"Yes,  I  recollect,"  said  Severne.  "  Eight  thousand  dol- 
lars, I  think." 

"  Eight  thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-five  dollars,"  re- 
plied Freeling,  looking  at  his  memorandum  book.  "  The 
money  is  to  be  paid  to-morrow.  They  only  cost  us  four 
thousand  a  year  ago." 

"  It  will  still  be  necessary  to  sell  some  stock,"  observed 
Severne,  "for  I  wish  to  purchase  that  property  in  Fifth 
Avenue  above  Thirty-fourth  Street  that  you  mentioned  a 
short  time  since.  I  suppose  it  is  worth  forty  thousand 
dollars." 

"Yes,  sir,  every  cent  of  it.  In  regard  to  the  stocks,  I 
think  it  would  be  best  to  sell  Governments ;  they  are  up 
now." 

"Very  well,  then,  sell  ten  thousand  to-morrow.  I  am 
going  to  travel  for  about  six  months." 

"  I  am  sure  it  will  do  you  good,  sir.  You  have  not 
looked  well  for  several  months.  Do  you  go  immediately  ?" 

"  In  the  course  of  a  fortnight.  The  preparations  which 
you  recommend,  therefore,  will  be  carried  out  in  part — that 
is,  so  far  as  is  necessary  for  a  six  months'  absence." 

"  The  powers  of  attorney  are  all  prepared,  and  only  await 
your  signature.  Will  you  look  them  over  now,  sir  ?" 

Severne  took  the  papers  and  read  them  carefully  through ; 
several  he  signed,  others  he  disapproved,  and  others  he  laid 
aside  for  further  consideration.  The  authority  conferred 
upon  Mr.  Freeling  was  not  therefore  as  extensive  as  this 
worthy  wished  it  to  be.  He  was  disappointed,  but  he  had 
too  much  shrewdness  to  manifest  his  emotions  to  any  great 
degree.  He  understood  that  Severne  did  not  intend  to 
leave  him  master  even  for  the  short  period  of  six  months, 
and  thus  several  schemes  which  he  had  formed  for  exercising 
his  power  would  not  probably  be  realized. 

"  I  think  it  my  duty,  sir,  again  to  call  your  attention  to 
the  propriety  of  raising  the  rent  of  the  houses  in  Lexington 
Avenue.  They  are  only  yielding  about  half  what  they 
should." 

This  subject  of  the  rent  of  the  houses  in  Lexington  Avenue 
was  one  which  Freeling  had  frequently  brought  to  Severne's 
attention.  The  latter  had  hitherto  refused  to  entertain  his 
agent's  proposition,  for  the  houses  in  question  were  occu- 


ROBERT   SE VERNE..  109 

pied  by  a  lady  not  in  very  good  circumstances;  but  the 
idea  now  occurred  to  him  that  Freeling  was  actuated  by 
some  more  powerful  motive  than  a  mere  business  one,  and 
he  determined  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  what  it  was.  He 
knew  the  agent's  character  too  well  to  endeavor  to  find  it 
out  by  any  direct  process,  and  he  therefore  gave  his  consent 
to  the  increase  of  $e  rent,  having  a  very  strong  conviction 
that  some  of  the  occupants  would  appeal  to  him  directly  in 
the  matter,  and  that  he  should  thus,  in  all  probability,  gain 
the  information  he  was  desirous  of  obtaining.  If  nothing 
should  be  heard  from  them  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  it 
would  be  very  easy  to  rescind  the  order. 

Freeling  manifested  more  satisfaction  at  Severne's  con- 
sent to  his  proposal  than  at  any  other  circumstance  which 
had  occurred  during  their  interview;  and  soon  afterward  took 
his  leave  for  the  purpose  of  putting  the  order  into  instant 
execution.  As  he  pursued  his  way  from  the  Fifth  Avenue 
to  Lexington  Avenue,  his  thoughts  were  not  altogether  of 
a  [pleasant  character.  He  had  lost  all  chance  of  getting 
any  portion  of  his  employer's  fortune  into  his  hands  by 
marrying  that  employer's  divorced  wife,  and  he  had  plainly 
perceived  that  during  Severne's  absence  his  authority  would 
even  be  less  than  it  was  at  present.  The  loss  of  the  smallest 
iota  of  his  power  always  made  Freeling  unhappy;  but  there 
was  one  eveut  which  had  caused  him  pleasure, — the  permis- 
sion to  raise  the  rent  of  the  houses  in  Lexington  Avenue — 
and  another  which  had  set  him  thinking — the  sudden  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  Severne's  ideas  relative  to  the 
existence  of  his  wife.  There  was  a  mystery  here,  he  was 
very  certain,  and  it  was  all  the  more  exciting  to  him  because 
he  saw  no  possible  way  of  unraveling  it  to  his  satisfaction. 
If  he  could  only,  he  thought,  obtain  a  meeting  with  the 
supposed  Mrs.  Severne,  he  would  be  able  to  make  himself 
acquainted  with  many  circumstances  which  were  now  con- 
cealed from  his  knowledge  ;  but  he  saw  no  possible  way  of 
effecting  this  object  except  through  some  of  Severne's  ser- 
vants, and  he  was  afraid  to  make  the  attempt  through  them 
while  their  master  was  still  in  town.  After  his  departure, 
the  effort  could  be  made  with  greater  safety. 

The  houses  in  Lexington  Avenue  belonging  to  Severne 
were  three  small  but  comfortable  buildings  which  he  had 


110  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

erected  for  the  use  of  persons  of  moderate  means,  and  which 
were  now  rented  by  a  widow,  who  sublet  the  rooms  to 
lodgers.  Mrs.  Langley's  history  was  very  similar  to  that 
of  many  other  women  who  have  been  forced  to  take  lodgers 
or  boarders.  Originally  well  to  do  in  the  world,  her  hus- 
band dying,  left  her  almost  penniless,  and  she  was  forced  to 
support  herself  and  two  daughters,  one  of  whom  was  in  bad 
health,  by  her  own  exertions.  Mr.  Freeling  had  been  for 
several  years  a  lodger  in  Mrs.  Langley's  establishment,  oc- 
cupying two  rooms  in  the  same  building  with  her  and  her 
daughters.  For  awhile,  Mr.  Freeling  did  all  in  his  power 
to  render  himself  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Langley  and  the  young 
ladies,  and  to  ingratiate  himself  into  their  good  graces.  He 
brought  them  little  presents  when  he  came  home  after  busi- 
ness hours,  and  generally  spent  his  evenings  in  their  small 
parlor,  conversing  with  them  relative  to  their  prospects  of 
success,  and  giving  them  advice  of  a  character  that  would 
hare  done  credit  to  the  most  devout  and  practical  father  of 
a  family.  No  one,  therefore,  had  more  influence  with  Mrs. 
Langley  than  Mr.  Freeling.  One  evening,  however,  her 
kind  lodger  came  home  looking  very  melancholy  and  sorrow- 
ful. He  took  his  accustomed  seat  on  the  sofa  with  a  sigh 
which  expressed  his  sincere  appreciation  of  the  great  fall 
from  grace  which,  in  his  estimation,  the  human  race  had  ex- 
perienced since  he  left  home  that  morning. 

"  Has  anything  occurred  to  annoy  you,  Mr.  Freeling  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Langley  in  her  most  persuasive  tone. 

"  Much,  my  dear  madam,"  replied  Mr.  Freeling,  with  an- 
other sigh.  "  There  is  scarcely  a  day  that  I  am  not  re- 
minded of  the  frailty  and  degeneracy  of  mankind.  We  hear 
individuals  talk  about  their  organizations  to  insure  the  ac- 
complishment of  their  ends,  forgetting  that  all  the  power 
lies  with  God.  We  live  in  godless  times,  Mrs.  Langley. 
We  trust  too  much  to  ourselves,  and  forget  that  we  are  but 
worms  in  the  dust,  and  that  unless  the  Lord  is  with  us,  we 
can  do  nothing." 

"  We  certainly  ought  to  put  our  trust  in  our  Father," 
said  Mrs.  Langley,  quietly. 

"  You  don't  state  it  strongly  enough,  Mrs.  Langley. 
What  do  we  see  in  business,  in  politics,  in  war, — yes,  and  even 
in  religion  ?  Men  seem  to  think  they  are  the  arbiters  of 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  Ill 

their  own  fate.  I  would  teach  them  differently  if  I  had  the 
power.  I  am  afraid  we  will  never  again  see  the  time  when 
those  in  high  places  will  need  only  to  tell  the  people,  as  did 
Cromwell,  '  to  put  their  trust  in  God  !' " 

"Did  he  not  also  tell  them  to  keep  their  powder  dry?" 
said  Grace  Langley,  without  looking  up  from  the  pattern 
she  was  braiding.  •• 

"Perhaps  he  did,  Miss  Grace, "replied  Mr.  Freeling,  with 
some  indignation.  "  I  don't  see,  however,  what  that  has  to 
do  with  the  matter,  and  I  would  be  obliged  to  you  if  you 
would  not  add  to  my  distress  by  needlessly  interrupting  me." 

Grace  made  no  reply,  and  Mr.  Freeling  continued  : 

"It  is  our  duty,  Mrs.  Langley,  to  forgive  our  enemies.  I 
always  do,  and  trust  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  exercising 
that  virtue  to-day.  Oh,  it  is  worth  while  to  be  injured  in  order 
to  experience  the  pleasure  that  results  from  pardoning  those 
who  try  to  do  us  harm.  I  place  my  enemies  in  the  hands  of 
the  Lord,  Mrs.  Langley.  He  will  reward  them  according  to 
their  deserts." 

"I  am  very  sorry  if  any  one  has  wronged  you,  Mr.  Free- 
ling,"  said  Mrs.  Langley,  feelingly. 

"It  is  very  well  for  you  to  feel  regret,  Mrs.  Langley.  I 
am  rejoiced.  Yes,  I  have  been  deeply  injured, — and  by 
whom  ?  By  a  man  whom  I  took  to  my  bosom  as  a  brother, 
for  whom  I  have  prayed  these  many  times,  and  to  whom 
I  would  even  have  loaned  money,  ["  On  good  security," 
said  Grace  to  herself.]  I  am  disappointed  in  human  na- 
ture. I  know  not  upon  whom  to  rely  as  a  friend.  And  to 
think  that  this  man  who  has  wronged  me  should  be  an  in- 
mate of  this  house." 

"Of  this  house?" 

"Yes,  my  dear  madam,  of  this  house.  One  whom  you 
little  suspect.  Why  should  I  conceal  his  name  from  you  ? 
Charles  I.  Thompson  is  the  man  who  has  tried  to  lower  me 
in  the  estimation  of  my  fellow-men.  He  has  been  asserting 
for  several  days  that  I  owed  him  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
that  he  had  lost  the  note  which  he  says  I  gave  him.  I  could 
not  recollect  owing  him  any  sum  at  all,  but  told  him  that  of 
course  when  he  produced  my  promissory  note  I  would  pay 
all  I  had  engaged  to  pay.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  this, 
but  this  morning  he  came  to  my  office,  and  in  presence  of 


112  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

several  gentlemen  called  me  a  liar  and  a  scoundrel.  I  may 
not  fulfill  my  entire  duty  to  my  Maker,  but  I  am  not  a  liar 
and  a  scoundrel.  Oh,  no!"  Mr.  Freeling  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully  with  these  last  words,  and  let  his  chin  drop  on 
his  breast. 

"  Of  course  you  do  not  owe  him  the  money,  Mr.  Free- 
ling  ?"  said  Mrs.  Langley. 

"How  can  I  tell  ?  Let  him  produce  the  note  and  I  will 
pay  it." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  you  ought  to  recollect  such  things." 

"Perhaps  I  ought.  But,  Mrs.  Langley,  my  thoughts  are 
occupied  in  a  great  measure  with  matters  which  are  not  of 
this  world." 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Thompson  should  have  insulted  you." 

"And  is  this  all  you  have  to  say  in  my  defense,  Mrs. 
Langley  ?  I  thought  you,  at  least,  would  be  my  friend." 

"What  can  I  do,  Mr.  Freeling,  other  than  express  my 
disapproval  of  Mr.  Thompson's  conduct?" 

"Is  it  possible  you  will  allow  him  to  live  in  the  same 
house  with  me,  after  the  unchristian  spirit  he  has  manifested  ? 
Do  you  still  regard  him  as  a  fit  associate  for  yourself  and 
daughters?  Perhaps,  too,  he  is  guilty  of  attempting  to  ex- 
tort money  from  me  under  false  pretenses." 

"I  do  not  believe  Mr.  Thompson  would  be  guilty  of  any 
deliberate  wrong.  He  is  impetuous,  and  therefore  apt  to 
act  rashly  sometimes ;  but  he  is  too  good  and  conscientious 
a  man  to  attempt  a  fraud." 

"Does  he  go  to  church,  Mrs.  Langley  ?" 

"Indeed,  I  do  not  know;   I  never  asked  him." 

"  Then  I  can  tell  you  he  does  not.  Why,  it  was  only  last 
Sunday  that  he  went  fishing.  A  man  who  would  fish  on 
Sunday,  Mrs.  Langley,  would  commit  a  fraud.  He  must 
leave  the  house." 

"I  do  not  see  my  way  clear,  Mr.  Freeling,  to  dismissing 
him  from  the  house.  Besides,  recollect  that  I  have  not 
heard  what  he  has  to  say  in  his  defense." 

"  Do  you  want  to  hear  a  defense  when  I  make  a  charge, 
Mrs.  Langley?  Is  it  possible  you  would  put  Charles  I. 
Thompson's  word  on  a  parallel  with  mine  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Freeling,  I  think  I  would  give  as  much  credit 
to  Mr.  Thompson's  word  as  to  that  of  any  one  I  know." 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  113 

"Madam,  he  mnst  leave  the  house,  or  I  do.  See,  here  is 
a  note  which  Miss  Grace  will  copy  and  you  can  sign.  I  will 
read  it. 

"  '  SIR  : — In  consequence  of  the  ungentlemanly  conduct 
you  were  guilty  of  this  morning  toward  my  estimable  friend, 
Mr.  Freeling,  I  must  insist  on  your  vacating  the  rooms  now 
occupied  by  you  at  the  end  of  the  coming  week.  Mr.  Free- 
ling  is  too  generous  to  consider  himself  your  enemy,  but  I 
cannot  consent  that  you  should,  any  longer  than  is  possible, 
live  in  the  same  house  with  him.'" 

".I  cannot  send  any  such  note,"  said  Mrs.  Langley  with 
firmness.  "  Mr.  Thompson  has  always  behaved  like  a  gentle- 
man since  I  have  known  him." 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  leave  your  house,  madam,"  said 
Mr.  Freeling,  with  difficulty  smothering  his  rage,  "and  I 
warn  you  of  the  consequences  of  your  persisting  to  refuse. 
You  know  I  am  the  agent  of  Mr.  Severne,  the  owner  of 
these  houses.  A  word  from  me  would  double  your  rent." 

"I  cannot  help  it,  Mr.  Freeling.  I  must  do  what  I  think 
is  right." 

"And  you  will  not  dismiss  Thompson?" 

"  Certainly  not,  without  hearing  what  he  has  to  say ;  and, 
so  far  as  I  can  now  determine,  not  even  then." 

"  Then  I  shall  leave  your  house  when  my  week  is  out,  and 
I  shall  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  discourage  any  one  who  has 
a  regard  for  his  reputation  from  coming  here.  The  rent  of 
the  houses  should  be  raised,  in  justice  to  Mr.  Severne's  in- 
terests, and  I  will  consult  with  him  on  the  subject." 

"You  will  of  course  do  what  you  please,  Mr.  Freeling; 
and,  in  the  mean  time,  I  have  to  request  that  you  will 
leave  us." 

Mr.  Freeling  retired  to  his  own  apartments,  and  Mrs. 
Langley,  sending  for  Mr.  Thompson,  heard  from  him  a  true 
account  of  the  difficulty.  Freeling  had  borrowed  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  only  five  days  previously,  from  Thompson,  in 
order  to  make  up  a  large  sum  he  was  about  investing,  and 
had  given  his  note,  payable  at  sight.  He  had  subsequently 
gone  to  Thompson  to  pay  the  money,  but  the  latter  was  un- 
able to  find  the  note.  The  loss  was  at  once  advertised  and 
the  negotiation  of  the  note  stopped ;  but  finding  that  there 
•  11 


Ill  ROBERT   8E  VERNE. 

was  no  evidence  of  the  debt  to  be  found,  Freeling  had  refused 
to  acknowledge  it,  and,  after  repeated  attempts  to  make  him 
do  what  was  right,  Thompson  had  publicly  insulted  him. 

Mr.  Freeling  left  Mrs.  Langley's  house,  and  his  rooms 
were  immediately  takeu  by  a  more  worthy  occupant.  He 
did  not,  however,  forget  his  threats.  He  had  said  all  he 
dared  to  say  against  Mrs.  Langley  in  his  endeavors  to  pre- 
vent her  apartments  being  taken,  and  had  used  every  effort 
to  induce  Severne  to  raise  the  rent.  Hitherto  he  had  not 
been  successful  in  his  attempts,  but  finally  his  end  had  been  * 
attained;  and,  as  he  walked  along  Twenty- fifth  Street,  he 
congratulated  himself  that  at  last  he  was  able  to  make  the 
Langleys  feel  his  power.  He  particularly  disliked  Grace, 
who  had  always  appeared  to  understand  his  true  character. 
Mary  was  almost  constantly  in  bed,  suffering,  as  she  did, 
from  a  chronic  malady  which  there  was  but  little  hope  could- 
ever  be  cured,  and  he  had  seen  but  little  of  her.  Still  he 
disliked  her,  as  he  did  all  persons  whom  he  had  injured  or 
was  about  to  injure. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  was  shown  into  the  parlor  by  the 
servant,  who  informed  him  that  Mrs.  Langley  was  not  at 
home,  but  that  Miss  Grace  would  see  him. 

Grace  entered  the  room  in  a  few  minutes,  during  which 
interval  Mr.  Freeling  amused  himself  by  looking  through  a 
photograph  album  which  lay  on  the  table.  As  soon  as  she 
opened  the  door  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  half  held  out  his 
hand  to  her,  but  she  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  gesture, 
and  motioning  him  to  a  seat,  inquired  his  business.  It  may 
be  mentioned,  in  parenthesis,  that  Grace  Langley  was  a  very 
pretty,  high-spirited,  and  good  girl,  well  educated,  and  pos- 
sessed of  a  sufficient  amount  of  common  sense  and  decision 
of  character  to  make  her  quite  a  formidable  antagonist  even 
to  Mr.  Freeling.  She  was  in  her  twentieth  year,  and  though 
her  health  had  been  bad,  owing  to  the  combined  effects  of 
mental  anxiety  and  confinement  to  the  house,  through  the 
necessity  of  attending  on  her  sister  Mary,  it  had  been  much 
improved  recently,  and  bid  fair  to  be  entirely  restored. 

"My  business  is  with  your  mother,"  said  Mr.  Freeling, 
who  was  a  little  afraid  of  Grace. 

"  Mamma  has  no  business  which  I  am  not  perfectly  com- 
petent to  transact  for  her,"  said  Grace. 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  115 

"Oh,  very  well,  Miss  Grace;  it  is  of  rather  a  disagree- 
able nature,  and  I  dislike  to  mention  it  before  you,  knowing 
the  delicate  state  of  your  health." 

"You  need  not  refrain  from  stating  it  on  that  account," 
said  Grace.  "My  health  is  sufficiently  good  to  enable  me 
to  hear,  without  danger  to  it,  any  intelligence  you  may  have 
to  communicate." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  inform  you  that  I  felt  it  to 
be  my  duty  to  Mr.  Severne  to  represent  to  him  that  these 
houses  were  worth  one  thousand  dollars  a  year  each  instead 
of  five  hundred,  which  your  mother  now  pays  for  them. 
From  the  first  of  next  month,  therefore,  you  will  pay  three 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  Mr.  Severne  having  this  morning 
acceded  to  my  proposition." 

Grace  felt  a  sickening  feeling  come  over  her  as  she  listened 
.to  Mr.  Freeling  and  understood  what  he  said.  She  knew 
how  utterly  impossible  it  would  be  for  her  mother,  even 
with  all  her  rooms  occupied  throughout  the  whole  year,  to 
pay  such  a  rent.  Yet  she  was  too  proud  to  let  her  distress 
become  known  to  Mr.  Freeling;  she  therefore  bowed  her 
head  coldly  and  said  : 

"  Is  that  all  your  business,  Mr.  Freeling  ?  I  will  tell  my 
mother  when  she  returns,  and  she  will  doubtless  communi- 
cate with  Mr.  Severne  on  the  subject." 

"With  me,  if  you  please,  Miss  Grace.  Mr.  Severne  does 
not  care  to  be  annoyed  with  complaints  or  demands  from 
his  tenants.  You  will  therefore  tell  your  mother  that  I  will 
call  here  on  Monday  for  her  answer." 

"And  I  repeat  to  you,  Mr.  Freeling,  that  mamma  will 
communicate  with  Mr.  Severne  directly.  I  do  not  believe, 
when  he  hears  all  the  circumstances,  that  he  will  allow  your 
schemes  to  succeed." 

"Your  mother,  and  you  too,  Miss  Grace,  may  make  fifty 
attempts  and  you  will  not  see  him.  You  were  pleased  to 
allude  to  my  schemes;  there  is  no  one  present  but  ourselves, 
Miss  Grace,  and  therefore  I  can  speak  plainly.  I  intend  to 
make  you  Langleys  feel  my  power.  I  intend  to  send  you 
to  the  alms-house  before  you  die.  You  thought  you  could 
resist  me,  and  you  perhaps  think  so  still.  We  will  see, 
however.  You  .are  a  proud,  stuck-up  set,  but  I  intend  to 
bring  you  to  your  marrow-bones.  I'll  bring  you  to  the 


116  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

alms-house  or  worse.  You  especially.  I  don't  forget  how 
you  always  treated  me.  Out  of  these  houses  you  go  on  the 
first  of  next  mouth  unless  you  agree  to  give  three  thousand 
a  year  for  them  and  put  up  good  security  for  the  rent.  I 
know  you  can't  do  it.  You  are  ruined,  root  and  branch, 
and  I  have  done  it." 

Grace  had  risen  from  her  chair  while  Freeling  was  speak- 
ing. Her  eyes  flashed  with  anger  and  insulted  dignity,  but 
she  heard  him  through  without  for  a  moment^ forgetting 
that  she  was  a  lady. 

"  I  have  never  had  the  least  doubt  in  regard  to  the  char- 
acter of  your  machinations,"  she  said,  with  composure;  "and 
now,  having  fully  revealed  them,  have  the  goodness  to  leave 
the  house." 

"  Not  till  I  have  told  you  something  more,  which  will 
probably  give  you  as  much  delight  as  that  which  you  have 
already  heard.  You  must  know,  Miss  Grace " 

But  before  he  could  say  anything  further,  Grace  rang  the 
bell  and  left  the  room.  She  met  the  servant  in  the  hall, 
and  directing  him  to  show  Mr.  Freeling  to  the  door,  went 
to  her  own  chamber,  and  throwing  herself  on  the  bed,  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears.  When  her  mother  returned,  Grace 
told  her  all  that  had  happened.  "  I  will  go  myself  and  see 
Mr.  Severne,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not  believe,  from  all  I  have 
heard  of  him,  that  he  is  an  unjust  man.  So,  dear  mamma, 
do  not  give  up,  all  may  yet  be  well." 

In  spite  of  Grace's  assurances  and  predictions,  she  and 
her  mother  experienced  many  forebodings  in  regard  to  the 
future.  Just  as  they  were  beginning  to  see  their  way  clear, 
and  were  passing  out  of  the  depths  of  utter  poverty,  to  have 
all  their  hopes  dashed  to  the  ground  through  the  influence 
of  a  villain  like  Freeling,  was  indeed  very  hard.  They  had 
both  seen  enough  of  life  to  know  that  it  is  not  always  the 
right  side  that  wins,  and  that  innocence  and  truth  are  often 
crushed  out  by  the  iron  heel  of  oppression,  so  thoroughly 
that  the  world  looks  on  with  greater  admiration  for  the  one 
wielding  the  power  than  sympathy  for  those  who  suffer  by 
its  abuse. 

As  for  Freeling,  he  left  the  house  partially  defeated.  He 
had  anticipated  that  appeals  would  have  been  made  to  his 
mercy,  and  he  had  been  looking  forward  with  great  satisfac- 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  117 

tion  to  the  pleasure  he  would  experience  in  hearing  and  re- 
fusing them.  There  had  been  nothing  of  the  sort.  On  the 
contrary,  he  had  been  rather  defied  than  otherwise.  Still 
he  felt  that  he  had  command  of  the  strings  that  could  make 
the  puppets  dance,  and  he  was  determined  to  pull  them 
when  the  time  came.  Nothing  in  the  world  at  that  moment 
would  have  given  him  such  intense  delight  as  seeing  the 
Langleys  reduced  to  the  most  complete  destitution.  He. 
felt  sure  he  could  accomplish  all  his  ends  so  far  as  they  were 
concerned,  and  he  was  resolved  not  only  to  make  them  taste 
the  cup  of  sorrow  in  all  its  bitterness,  but  to  drain  it  to  its 
dregs. 


CHAPTER  XL 

IN  WHICH  THE  HERO  AND  HEROIN  H  MEET  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME,  AND  IN 
WHICH  THE  FORMER  INDULGES  HIS  B1BLIOMANIACAL  PROPENSITY. 

SEVERNE  remained  in  the  house  for  a  short  time  after 
Freeling's  departure,  and  then  putting  away  the  papers 
upon  which  he  had  been  engaged,  sallied  out  for  a  walk. 
It  was  several  weeks  since  he  had  visited  John  Holmes's 
book-shop,  a  place  where  it  had  been  his  habit  to  spend  a 
portion  of  nearly  every  day.  He  had  scarcely  ever  gone 
there  without  gaining  some  knowledge  about  men  or  books 
which  was  interesting  and  useful  to  him.  But  besides  the 
motive  for  his  visits  due  to  this  cause,  he  had  acquired  a 
very  warm  and  sincere  friendship  for  both  John  Holmes 
and  Goodall.  The  former  he  had  known  and  esteemed  for 
many  years,  but  the  latter  he  had  been  intimately  acquainted 
with  for  a  comparatively  short  period.  There  was  that  in 
Goodall,  however,  which  endeared  him  very  much  to  one  of 
Severne's  thoughtful  mind.  There  was  such  entire  sim- 
plicity of  character,  so  much  thorough  honesty  and  good 
nature,  and  such  a  vast  fund  of  common  sense  in  him,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  any  one  who  knew  him  to  keep  from 
lovTiig  him.  Severne  had  thoroughly  studied  Goodall,  and 
had  become  perfectly  conversant  with  all  the  points  of  his  dis- 

11* 


118  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

position.  He  saw  that  Goodall  had  endured  trouble  of  some 
kind  which  would  never  be  forgotten  while  his  life  lasted, 
but  he  also  saw  that  he  bore  it  with  that  calm  strength  and 
self-reliance  which  would  never  desert  him,  because  he  had 
developed  them  out  of  his  sorrow  and  made  them  part  of 
his  mental  being.  And  then,  when  he  looked  in  upon  him- 
self, he  was  forced  to  admit  that  in  the  possession  of  all  the 
elements  which  give  real  strength  to  character,  Goodall  was 
vastly  his  superior. 

He  thought  of  all  this  and  a  great  deal  more,  as  he  pur- 
sued his  way  down  Broadway  toward  John  Holmes's  shop. 
The  street  was  crowded  with  beautiful  and  well-dressed 
women  and  fine-looking  men.  Many  of  them  he  knew,  and 
a  few  of  them  he  liked — as  men  of  Severne's  stamp  like  ac- 
quaintances. The  morning  was  warm,  but  he  was  exhila- 
rated by  the  fresh  breeze  that  danced  up  the  street  from  the 
sea,  and  played  with  the  ribbons  and  draperies  of  the  fair 
promenaders.  Already  he  felt  that  his  cure  was  certain  if 
he  followed  the  directions  Lawrence  had  given  him.  He 
began  to  experience  a  little  of  that  elasticity  of  mind  which 
at  one  time  had  been  a  characteristic  feature  of  his  temper- 
ament. There  was  hope  for  him  yet.  There  was  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  be  happy,  and  he  determined  that  he 
would. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  arrived  in  front  of  John  Holmes's 
shop.  How  familiar,  how  kind,  how  scholarly  it  looked, 
with  its  begrimed  windows  full  of  treasures  which  kings 
might  have  envied!  He  smiled  as  he  stopped  and  tried  to 
distinguish  the  titles  of  some  of  the  books  they  contained. 
He  found  it  an  undertaking  requiring  all  his  efforts,  but  at 
length,  by  moving  his  position  so  as  to  get  the  light  from  the 
most  favorable  quarter,  he  was  able  to  make  out  some  of 
them  ;  others  were  altogether  beyond  his  perseverance  and 
skill. 

"De  Somniorum  Interpretations,"  he  said  to  himself, 
reading  the  title  of  one  of  the  books,  "by  that  excellent  but 
credulous  philosopher,  Artemidorus.  How  vainly,  since  the 
creation  of  the  world,  have  men.  tried  to  unravel  the  mys- 
tery of  dreams,  and  how  great  an  influence  these  fancies  of 
the  sleeping  mind  have  exercised  over  the  world ! 

"L'Histoire  des  Imaginations  Extravagantes  de  Mons. 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  119 

Oufle,  Causees  par  le  Lecture  des  Livres  qui  Traitent  de 
la  Mngie,  du  Grimoine,  des  Sorciers,  Loups-garoux,  Li- 
cubes,  Succubes,  etc.  I  suppose  Lawrence  will  be  dishing 
me  up  some  day  as  M.  1'Abbe  Bordelon  has  M.  Oufle. 
There  is  no  possibility  of  satisfying  a  physician's  appetite  for 
wonderful  cases  of  disease.  He  takes  them  down  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  and  is  ready  for  more  before  he  has  digested 
the  first  dose. 

" Tractalus  de  Origina  Animse"  he  continued.  "All 
speculation  and  humbug.  Sandius  was  an  ass,  and  so  are 
all  other  men,  myself  included,  who  waste  their  energies 
upon  subjects  far  above  their  comprehension,  and  which 
they  cannot  by  any  possible  effort  expect  to  fathom.  What 
do  they  know  of  the  origin  of  the  soul  ? 

"But  what  is  this?  As  I  live,  the  Historia  Facultatum 
Intellectualium  of  Ulrich  de  Hutten  !  The  only  copy  prob- 
ably in  the  world.  A  book  which  not  one  bibliomaniac  in  a 
thousand  has  ever  heard  of.  Where  could  Holmes  have 
found  this  book,  which  is  worth  its  weight  in  gold  ?  I  have 
never  forgotten  its  existence  since  I  first  heard  of  it  years 
ago  in  Germany,  and  now  to  think  that  I  should  stumble  on 
it  in  this  way." 

With  these  words  Severne  turned  away  from  the  window 
to  enter  the  shop,  without  noticing  Sarah  Tompkins,  who, 
as  we  have  seen,  rose  from  her  seat  on  the  step  4nd  fled 
rapidly  in  the  opposite  direction  as  he  approached  her. 
Just  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  Margaret  passed  out.  He 
started,  for  a  moment,  surprised  that  so  young  and  lovely  a 
woman  should  have  visited  the  old  book-shop,  where,  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  experience,  none  but  far  less  charming 
individuals  of  her  sex  had  been  seen.  He  caught  but  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  her  face,  but  that  was  enough  to  cap-' 
tivate  him,  and  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  easily  thrown  off  his 
balance  by  female  beauty,  much  as  he  admired  it. 

"Who  can  she  be  ?"  he  wondered.  "What  a  beautiful 
creature  !  Is  it  possible  she  buys  old  books  ?  I'll  not  be- 
lieve it !  Fancy  that  fresh  and  lovely  girl,  whose  thoughts 
should  be  young  and  trustful,  hardening  herself  into  a  pet- 
rifaction before  she  has  begun  to  enjoy  the  life  God  gave 
her.  Yet  she  had  a  book  in  her  hand,  an  old  one,  too. 
She  has  been  sent  for  it  by  her  father,  or  some  old  curmud- 


120  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

geon  of  an  uncle  or  guardian.  I  must  ask  about  this.  I 
shall  be  miserable  till  I  ascertain  that  she  is  not  a  biblio- 
phile. Pshaw  1  a  female  bibliophile  without  spectacles,  or 
false  teeth,  or  hair,  with  beautifully  gloved  hands,  and  a 
bonnet  like  that,  is  an  impossibility.  What  eyes !  what  a 
mouth  !  what  a  complexion  !  what  grace  in  every  movement ! 
By  Jove  !  if  Lawrence  were  to  hear  me  talk  he  would  be 
satisfied  at  last ! 

"How  are  you,  Goodall  ?"  he  continued,  as  he  arrived  at 
the  location  of  his  friend.  "Yon  are  surprised  to  see  me 
again  after  so  long  an  absence,  and  are  wondering  how  I 
have  been  able  to  endure  life  away  from  the  old  shop." 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr  Severne,  but  not  sur- 
prised; and  as  to  your  time,  I  know  you  have  spent  it  prof- 
itably," said  Goodall,  as  he  shook  Severne  warmly  by  the 
hand. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that;  but  if  I  thought  you  had  such 
visitors  daily  as  the  one  who  passed  me  as  I  came  in,  I 
should  be  disposed  to  spend  a  great  portion  of  my  life  here. 
Who  is  she  ?  Not  an  authoress,  I  hope." 

"Miss  Leslie." 

"  Who  ?"  exclaimed  Severne,  in  great  astonishment. 

"Miss  Margaret  Leslie.  Mr.  Holmes's  orphan  grand- 
daughter." 

"John  Holmes's  granddaughter!  lam  more  surprised 
now  than  ever.  I  did  not  even  know  he  had  a  granddaugh- 
ter. I  had  something  to  say  to  you  of  importance,  but  I 
have  forgotten  it.  Is  John  Holmes  in  his  den  .'"' 

"Yes;  walk  in  ;  he  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"John  Holmes's  granddaughter  !"  thought  Severne,  as  he 
turned  away  from  Goodall  toward  the  door  of  the  den. 
"  The  most  beautiful  girl  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  How  dearly 
the  old  fellow  must  love  her !  I  wish  she  was  my  grand- 
daughter instead  of  his.  Pshaw  !  she  is  happier  far  as  it  is. 
What  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  paternal  would  I  do  with 
so  lovely  a  being  as  she  is  ?" 

John  Holmes  was  seated  at  his  table,  busily  engaged  as 
usual  in  covering  small  half  sheets  of  paper  with  writing,  an 
occupation  he  had  resumed  as  soon  as  Margaret  left  him  at 
liberty.  He  rose  from  his  chair  as  Severne  entered  the 
room,  and  greeted  him  with  a  warmth  of  manner  which 


ROBERT   BE  VERNE.  121 

showed  how  much  he  liked  and  respected  him.  John 
Holmes  admired  all  persons  with  literary  tastes,  but  he  had 
conceived  an  especial  regard  for  Severne,  which  he  never 
failed  to  manifest  upon  all  proper  occasions.  Without 
being  very  demonstrative,  John  Holmes  was  by  nature  so 
frank  and  open-hearted  that  it  was  an  impossibility  for  him 
altogether  to  conceal  his  emotions,  even  when  it  was  desir- 
able for  him  to  do  so.  No  man  ever  gets  credit  from  the 
world  for  frankness  and  generosity.  The  exhibition  of  such 
qualities  is  sure  to  be  misinterpreted  to  the  disadvantage 
of  their  possessor,  and  John  Holmes  knew  that  he  was 
often  regarded  as  a  far-seeing,  and  even  designing  man,  be- 
cause of  his  inability  to  refrain  from  the  expression  of  his 
real  feelings.  There  was  no  such  danger,  however,  with 
Severne,  who  thoroughly  understood  and  appreciated  his 
, friend  as  he  was. 

"  My  dear  old  fellow,"  said  Severne,  taking  a  seat  on  the 
sofa,  "you  never  told  me  you  had  a  granddaughter.2' 

"Did  I  not?"  replied  John  Holmes,  smiling.  "It  must 
have  been,  then,  because  she  was  a  mere  child.  In  fact,  she 
is  not  much  more  now.  Remember  you  have  not  been  to 
my  house  for  over  a  year,  and  then  you  never  came  till  it 
was  so  late  at  night  that  Margaret  had  gone  to  bed.  How 
did  you  discover  that  I  had  a  granddaughter,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  I  met  her*  at  the  door  as  I  came  in,  and  Goodall  told 
me  all  I  know." 

"  Yes,  she  was  here  for  a  few  moments.  By-the-by,  that 
reminds  me  of  what  I  had  almost  forgotton,"  he  continued, 
pulling  a  bell-cord  that  hung  near  him.  "  My  granddaughter 
had  her  pocket  picked,  I  suspect  by  a  young  woman  who 
asked  her  for  alms  at  the  shop  door,  and  who,  in  answer  to 
her  inquiries,  gave  her  residence.  I  am  going  to  send  there 
and  see  if  she  spoke  the  truth,  though,  of  course,  if  she  took 
the  money,  she  has  given  a  false  address." 

"A  very  sensible  conclusion  that  of  yours.  I  hope  Miss 
Leslie's  loss  was  not  a  large  one." 

"  Not  so  great  as  to  be  beyond  replacing ;  some  fifty  or 
sixty  dollars,  I  think.  My  granddaughter  is,  however, 
much  more  distressed  at  the  depravity  of  so  young  a  girl 
than  at  the  loss  of  her  pocket-book." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Severne,  musingly. 


122  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

"  Thomas,"  said  John  Holmes  to  the  porter,  who  made 
his  appearance  in  answer  to  the  summons,  "I  wish  you 
would  go  to  Dobbin's  Court,  Baxter  Street,  and  see  if  you 
can  find  a  young  woman  there  by  the  name  of — what  is  her 
name?  I  wrote  it  down.  Ah,  yes!  here  it  is, — Sarah  Tomp- 
kins,  who " 

"What  is  that?"  exclaimed  Severne,  who  was  reading  a 
pamphlet  he  had  picked  up,  and  who  was  attracted  by  the 
familiar  sound.  "  What  name  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Sarah  Tompkins." 

"  Why,  I  know  her.  I  have  been  looking  for  her  these 
six  months.  What  do  you  want  with  her  ?" 

"She  is  the  young  woman  whom  I  suspect  of  stealing  my 
granddaughter's  pocket-book." 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  find  your  suspicions  turn 
out  correct.  She  cheated  me  out  often  dollars."  Severne 
then  related  his  adventure  with  Sarah,  and  detailed  the 
objects  he  had  in  view  concerning  her.  "  I  am  very  cer- 
tain, however,  that  you  will  not  find  her  in  Dobbin's  Court. 
I  think  I  shall  know  this  evening  where  she  resides.  In  the 
mean  time  if  you  succeed  in  discovering  her  whereabouts, 
please  inform  me  immediately." 

John  Holmes  promised  to  do  so,  and  Thomas  departed 
on  his  errand. 

"  I  think  you  are  about  to  do  a  good  actio*n  toward  this 
young  woman,"  he  resumed.  "  There  may  be  the  germs  of 
virtue  in  her  yet,  and  we  should  endeavor  to  develop  them 
if  we  can.  If  I  can  be  of  any  assistance  to  you  in  facilita- 
ting your  plans,  do  not  fail  to  call  upon  me.  Remember,  I 
have  acquired  a  claim  on  her." 

"You  shall  certainly  help  if  you  desire  to  do  so,"  said 
Severne.  "I  am  going  to  travel  for  a  few  months,  and  will 
be  glad  to  leave  her  under  your  superintendence  while  I  am 
absent.  That  is,  provided,  of  course,  she  accedes  to  my 
wishes," 

"  Going  to  travel,  are  you  ?  I  am  glad  of  it.  You  re- 
quire relaxation  of  that  kind.  I  have  noticed  how  badly 
you  have  been  looking  for  several  months  past.  You  have 
been  too  assiduous  with  your  literary  labor.  No  man  can 
stand  such  constant  work  as  you  have  performed  and  retain 
his  health.  Which  way  do  you  go  ?" 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  123 

"Across  the  continent  to  San  Francisco,  thence  to  India, 
and  back  through  Europe.  Lawrence  goes  with  me  as  my 
governor." 

"  Lawrence,  too  !  Why,  what  will  the  shop  do  with  both 
of  you  away?  I  shall  have  to  go  also.  Don't  be  surprised, 
therefore,  if  in  three  or  four  months  you  meet  me  in  Paris." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  Severne.  "  It  would  be  of 
great  advantage  to  Miss  Leslie.  That  is,  I  mean  she  would 
see  a  great  deal  to  interest  and  amuse  her.  But  I  had  almost 
forgotten  the  immediate  cause  of  my  coming  in  here  this 
morning.  There's  a  book  in  the  shop-window  I  want." 

"Ah,  I  know  what  it  is, — Ulrich  de  Hutten's  Historia 
Facultatum  Intellectualium.  Goodall  had  never  heard  of 
it.  He  said  it  was  a  forgery  at  first,  but  finally  admitted  it 
to  be  genuine.  There  is  a  mystery  about  that  copy  which 
I  am  not  without  hope  of  having  explained  to  me." 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  is  the  identical  copy  men- 
tioned to  me  several  years  ago  in  Germany.  Did  you  get 
it  from  a  German  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"A  thin,  wiry,  intellectual,  and  determined-looking  man, 
with  small  black  eyes,  and  a  head  like  that  of  Hamman's 
Vesalius  ?" 

"You  have  described  him  exactly." 

"  The  same,  undoubtedly.  Listen.  In  the  month  of 
January,  1847,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  room  at  the  Hotel 
de  Russie,  in  Frankfort,  a  servant  came  to  announce  that  a 
stranger  wished  to  see  me.  I  directed  him  to  be  shown  up. 
In  a  few  moments  a  gentleman  whom  I  had  never  seen  be- 
fore entered  the  room.  He  was  evidently  well  bred,  and 
there  was  an  air  of  superiority  and  independence  about  him 
which,  though  not  in  the  least  offensive,  struck  me  as  being 
somewhat  peculiar.  He  was  tall,  thin,  scrupulously  clean 
and  neat,  and  remarkably  handsome.  Since  then  I  have  seen 
Hamman's  picture  of  Vesalius  in  the  Louvre,  and  the  mo- 
ment my  eyes  lighted  on  it  I  was  astonished  at  the  resem- 
blance to  my  visitor.  I  invited  him  to  be  seated,  and  politely 
inquired  his  business  with  me. 

'"You  see  before  you,'  he  said,  'a  lineal  descendant  of 
that  great  warrior  and  philosopher,  Ulrich  de  Hutten, 
Knight.' 


124  ROBERT    SEVEBNE. 

"  I  bowed  profoundly,  though  I  had  at  that  time  no  very 
definite  idea  of  Ulrich  de  Hutten,  except  that  like  many 
other  philosophers  he  had  dared  to  meddle  with  theology, 
and  had  been  persecuted  therefor  by  the  Church. 

"'You  are  a  scholar?'  he  continued. 

"  Not  being  very  certain  about  that  point,  I  maintained  a 
discreet  silence. 

"'My  ancestor,  Ulrich  de  Hutten,' resumed  my  visitor, 
'wrote  a  book,  of  which  there  is  only  one  copy  in  existence. 
One  thousand  were  printed,  but  as  soon  as  the  volumes  were 
delivered  to  him  by  the  printer  they  were  seized  by  the  bishop 
— all  but  one  copy,  which  he  had  concealed  under  his  bed — 
and  destroyed.  I  have  that  copy  in  my  possession.  It  is 
yours  if  you  will  pay  me  my  price  for  it.' 

"  I  was  even  then  a  hunter  of  old  books,  and  though,  as  I 
have  said,  I  took  no  particular  interest  in  Ulrich  de  Hutten, 
I  burned  to  be  the  possessor  of  a  volume  of  which  there  was 
no  duplicate  in  the  world. 

"  'If  I  should  agree  to  buy  this  book  of  you,'  I  said,  'how 
will  I  be  assured  of  its  genuineness  ?' 

'"I  will  take  care  of  that,'  he  answered.  'I  have  a  com- 
plete history  of  the  volume,  duly  authenticated.' 

"  '  How  much  do  you  ask  for  it  ?' 

"  '  Two  hundjed  pounds  of  your  money,'  he  replied. 

" '  Two  hundred  pounds  !  That  is  a  great  deal  of  money 
for  one  book, — more  in  fact  than  I  can  well  afford  to  give.' 

"  'Very  well,  sir,' he  said,  with  perfect  composure.  'You, 
of  course,  know  your  own  business  better  than  I  do.  Should 
you  change  your  determination,  recollect  that  the  book  is 
the  Historia  Facultatum  Intellectualium  of  Ulrich  de  Hut- 
ten,  written  at  his  castle  of  Steckelberg  on  the  Main  in  the 
year  1521,  and  printed  at  Frankfort  in  1522,  and  that  it  is 
unique.  I  wish  you  to  have  it.  I  have  mentioned  it  as 
yet  to  no  purchaser  but  yourself.  I  have  only  to  take  it  to 
Paris  to  get  my  price  for  it.' 

"  'Give  me  till  to-morrow  to  decide,'  I  answered. 

"  '  With  great  pleasure,'  he  rejoined.  '  Good  morning, 
sir,  till  to-morrow  at  twelve,  if  that  hour  will  suit  yon.' 

"  I  expressed  my  acceptance  of  the  appointment,  and  our 
interview  terminated.  The  more  I  thought  about  the  mat- 
ter, the  more  I  became  possessed  with  the  idea  of  buying  the 


- 

ROBERT   SE VERNE.  125 

book  that  had  been  offered  to  me.  To  make  sore  that  I 
would  not  be  cheated  by  so  doing,  I  consulted  several  gen- 
tlemen of  my  acquaintance  whom  I  knew  to  be  thoroughly 
conversant  with  books,  and  upon  whose  judgment  I  could 
therefore  rely.  No  one  of  them  had  even  so  much  as  heard 
of  it,  but  all  agreed  that  if  the  volume  was  such  as  the  owner 
represented  it  to  be,  it  was  well  worth  the  price  asked  for  it. 

"  I  then  got  the  life  of  Hutten  by  Wagenseil,  and  made 
myself  acquainted  with  the  main  details  of  his  short  but 
brilliant  career,  as  philosopher,  soldier,  and  theologian.  I 
also,  by  reference  to  a  collection  of  his  works  published  as 
complete,  found  that  the  '  Historia'  was  altogether  unknown 
to  the  compiler.  I  accordingly  resolved  to  secure  it,  al- 
though so  doing  would  require  me  to  practice  a  rigid  econ- 
omy for  some  time  in  other  matters.  With  impatience  I 
awaited  the  return  of  the  owner. 

"Punctual  to  the  minute  he  came.  I  saw  that  he  was 
somewhat  embarrassed,  and  without  waiting  for  him  to  re- 
peat his  offer,  I  at  once  signified  my  acceptance  of  it. 

'"I  was  sure  you  would  agree  to  my  proposition,'  he 
said;  'but  will  you  pardon  me  if  I  tell  you  that  I  am  anx- 
ious, with  your  full  consent,  to  withdraw  it.' 

"  I  was  surprised  at  this  avowal,  and  asked  the  reason  for 
the  change  in  his  intention. 

"'The  only  reason  is,'  he  replied,  'that  the  cause  which 
existed  yesterday  for  my  parting  with  the  book  is  no  longer 
in  force.  Nothing  but  the  most  urgent  want  would  induce 
me  to  think  of  resigning  so  great  a  treasure  to  another. 
Since  I  last  saw  you  my  fortune  has  changed.  If  you  in- 
sist upon  it,  the  book  shall  be  yours.  I  never  broke  my 
word  in  my  life.  I  beg  you,  however,  to  release  me.' 

"  Of  course  I  acceded  again ;  but  though  I  did  so  as 
graciously  as  I  could,  my  visitor  saw  that  it  was  disagree- 
able to  me. 

" '  I  am  eternally  obliged  to  you  for  your  great  kindness,' 
he  said,  with  some  emotion.  '  I  beg,  as  an  evidence  of  my 
appreciation  of  your  generous  conduct,  that  you  will  accept 
this  letter,  the  last  my  illustrious  ancestor  wrote.' 

"  With  these  words  he  handed  me  a  letter,  dated  Island  of 
Ufnan,  August  28,  1523,  three  days  only  before  the  great 

12 


126  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

man  to  whom  Erasmus  refused  an  asylum  quitted  this  earth 
forever. 

"  I  was  overjoyed  to  get  this  memorial  of  a  man  for  whose 
character  I  now  began  to  entertain  the  utmost  veneration 
and  regard,  and  offered  my  visitor  his  own  price  for  it.  But 
no,  it  was  a  free  gift,  nothing  would  induce  him  to  take 
money  for  it,  as  he  had  now  sufficient  for  all  his  wants.  I 
therefore  thanked  him,  and  asked  him  if  I  could  be  of  any 
service  to  him. 

'"Not  now,' he  answered.  'I  do  not  know  what  may 
hereafter  occur.  One  thing  more ;  if  ever  I  should  be 
obliged  to  sell  the  "Historia,"  it  shall  be  yours  at  the  price 
mentioned  yesterday.  You  may  rely  upon  this  promise. 
As  I  told  you  before,  I  never  broke  my  word  in  my  life,  and 
never  will.  The  book  will  never  be  sold  except  to  you. 
Here  is  my  card.  Do  not  trouble  yourself  to  give  me  yours. 
I  know  you  now  as  No.  38,  the  number  of  your  room.  I 
shall  be  able  to  find  you  when  I  want  you.  Good-by.  Again 
accept  my  thanks.' 

"Before  I  could  reply  to  this  last  speech,  he  was  gone. 
I  examined  the  card.  There  was  no  address  on  it ;  only 
the  name  Ulrich  de  Hutten.  I  have  neither  seen  nor  heard 
of  him  or  his  book  since.  I  have  made  inquiries  in  regard 
to  the  'Historia,' and  have  given  orders  for  it  to  all  the 
principal  booksellers  of  Europe,  but  to  this  day  have  never 
received  the  least  information  in  regard  to  it." 

John  Holmes  had  listened  with  the  greatest  attention  to 
Severne's  recital.  When  it  was  concluded,  he  said  : 

"The  book  is  yours,  I  have  no  doubt.  It  was  left  here 
yesterday  for  sale  by  a  gentleman  such  as  you  have  described, 
who  admitted  that  it  was  to  be  sold  for  two  hundred  pounds 
sterling  or  its  equivalent,  to  but  one  person,  he  who  in  1846 
occupied  room  No.  38  at  the  Hotel  de  Russie,  Frankfort-on- 
the-Main,  and  who  had  a  card  with  the  name  Ulrich  de  Hut- 
ten  inscribed  on  it.  So,  my  dear  Severne,  if  you  have  a 
mind  to  give  a  thousand  dollars  for  the  Historia  Facultatum 
Intellectualium  it  is  yours.  How  very  singular  that  you 
should  meet  with  it  agaip,  and  what  a  strange  story  you 
have  told  me !" 

"The  whole  affair  is  a  complete  mystery  to  me.  Of 
course  I  want  the  book,  and  will  at  once  write  you  a  check 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  12t 

for  the  money.  But  can  you  not  manage  to  get  me  an  in- 
terview with  the  present  owner?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can.  He  said  he  would  return  to 
learn  the  result  in  about  a  week.  I  will,  of  course,  mention 
to  him  your  wish.  Perhaps  he  will  accede  to  it ;  but  in  re- 
gard to  so  singular  a  man  as  M.  de  Hutten  evidently  is,  it 
would  be  unwise  to  make  a  prediction  as  to  what  he  will  do." 

The  book  was  then  brought  and  carefully  examined  by 
Severne.  It  was  undoubtedly  genuine,  and  on  a  fly-leaf  was 
the  following : 

"Nun  ist  meine  arbeit  gethan.  Stekelberg,  dem  16  Marz, 
1521.  Ulrich  von  Hutten." 

Severne  immediately  recognized  the  handwriting  as  that 
of  Ulrich  de  Hutten  by  mentally  comparing  it  with  the  let- 
ter in  his  possession,  and  with  undoubted  specimens  he  had 
seen  in  public  and  private  collections.  He  handed  John 
Holmes  a  check  for  the  price  of  the  book,  and  putting  it 
under  his  arm  took  leave  of  his  friends,  after  again  reminding 
John  Holmes  to  inform  him  as  soon  as  possible  of  the  result 
of  Thomas's  search  for  Sarah  Tompkins. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"SANS    PEUB   ET    SANS    EEPEOCHB." 

OF  course  Thomas  did  not  find  Sarah  Tompkins  or  her 
residence.  No  one  of  the  denizens  of  Dobbin's  Court  had 
ever  heard  of  this  young  woman,  or  if  they  had,  they  were 
too  sharp  to  part  with  any  portion  of  their  knowledge. 
John  Holmes  therefore  went  home  that  evening  with  the  firm 
conviction  that  Margaret  had  undoubtedly  been  robbed  and 
deceived  by  the  girl  to  whom  she  had  given  alms,  and  cer- 
tainly with  no  exaltation  of  his  idea  of  human  nature — that 
of  beggar  girls  in  particular. 

When  Margaret  told  him  of  her  subsequent  adventure, 
and  of  the  recovery  of  her  money,  her  grandfather  began  to 
think  that  perhaps  he  had  been  too  hasty  in  his  conclusion, 


128  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

and  he  felt  more  disposed  than  ever  to  unite  with  Severne 
in  his  plans  relative  to  Sarah.  He  at  once  wrote  a  note  to 
Severne  acquainting  him  with  the  main  facts  of  Margaret's 
last  interview  with  her,  and  of  the  address  she  had  given. 
Seeing  that  Margaret  was  so  much  interested  in  the  girl,  he 
debated  in  his  own  mind  whether  it  would  not  be  as  well  to 
tell  her  of  Severne's  and  his  plans,  and  finally  concluded 
that  no  harm  could  possibly  result  from  so  doing. 

"You  have  heard  me  speak  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Severne, 
have  you  not  ?"  he  said,  addressing  Margaret,  who  sat  with 
him  on  the  piazza  overlooking  the  garden  at  the  back  of  the 
house. 

"Oh,  yes,  grandpapa;  I  have  heard  both  you  and  Mr. 
Goodall  frequently  mention  him." 

"  He  knows  your  friend,  Sarah  Tompkins,  and  is  anxious 
to  be  of  service  to  her." 

John  Holmes  then  related  to  Margaret  the  facts  which 
Severne  had  that  morning  communicated  to  him  relative  to 
Sarah,  and  his  intentions. 

Margaret  was  delighted,  and  was  sure  Sarah  would  gladly 
embrace  the  opportunity  of  being  educated  and  lifted  up 
from  her  present  depraved  condition. 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  know  Mr.  Severne,"  she 
said,  after  she  and  her  grandfather  had  fully  discussed  Sarah, 
her  supposed  antecedents,  and  her  anticipated  future.  "He 
must  be  a  very  good  man." 

"You  have  already  met  him, "my  dear  child ;  "he  passed 
you  at  the  door  of  the  shop  this  morning." 

"  Was  that  Mr.  Severne  ?   What  a  handsome  man  he  is !" 

"  I  should  call  him  a  handsome  man,  too,  my  dear  child  ; 
many  people  would  not.  He  is  a  true  gentleman,  however, 
and  that  is  better  than  being  handsome." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  Margaret,  musingly.  "  How  very 
much  that  word  gentleman  expresses!" 

"  It  means  a  great  deal  more  than  most  persons  think.  I 
never  detracted  from  its  full  signification,  and  yet  of  the  few 
men  I  know  who  come  within  its  pale,  Robert  Severne  stands 
among  the  first." 

"  I  am  sure  he  does,  or  you  and  Mr.  Goodall  would  not 
like  him." 

There  was  a  silence  then  of  several  minutes,  during  which 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  129 

John  Holmes  smoked  his  cigar  with  that  quiet  dignity  and 
composure  which  showed  how  much  he  enjoyed  it.  Mar- 
garet was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I  have  been  thinking,  dear  grandpapa,"  she  said,  "how- 
very  rare  it  is  that  people  pass  for  just  what  they  are,  neither 
more  nor  less." 

"Very  rare  indeed ;  our  judgment  is  not  by  any  means 
the  most  perfect  of  our  faculties.  But  what  caused  the 
thought,  my  dear  child  ?" 

"  The  fact  that  you  and  Mr.  Goodall  are  the  only  persons 
I  have  ever  heard  speak  well  of  Mr.  Severne.  Others  say 
he  is  haughty,  overbearing,  vain,  misanthropic,  and  that 
there  is  a  mystery  about  him  which  no  one  in  this  country 
understands." 

"And  who  say  all  this  ?" 

"  Mary  Jocelyn  and  Rosalie  Mayo,  and  Mrs.  Sanford,  to 
say  nothing  of  Joshua  and  Mrs.  Markland." 

"Joshua  and  Mrs.  Markland  had  better  mind  their  own 
business.  As  to  the  others,  I  suspect  they  are  annoyed 
that  Mr.  Severne  does  not  visit  them.  He  is  going  away 
in  a  few  days." 

"Going  away  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  intends  making  the  circumference  of  the  earth. 
He  says  he  will  be  absent  six  months,  but  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  even  a  year  were  found  insufficient." 

"  Dear  grandpapa,  I  should  like  to  travel,  and  above  all 
things,  to  go  to  Europe,  where  there  is  so  much  to  see  that 
is  beautiful  and  venerable." 

"  You  shall  go,  my  dear  Margaret ;  I  have  been  thinking 
of  it  for  some  time,  and  next  October,  if  all  goes  well,  we 
will  cross  the  Atlantic." 

"  Oh,  how  delightful  it  will  be  !  What  a  pleasure  to  look 
forward  to  !  I  hope  we  will  visit  Germany  and  Italy." 

"  Yes,  and  many  other  countries  besides.  But,  to  return 
to  Mr.  Severne.  It  is  probable  that  ere  long  you  will  have 
an  opportunity  of  judging  for  yourself  how  true  are  the  as- 
sertions you  have  heard.  Hitherto,  my  dear  Margaret,  you 
have  seen  little  or  nothing  of  gentlemen's  society,  but  the 
time  is  approaching,  has  actually  come  indeed,  when  it  is 
desirable,  if  only  for  your  own  sake,  that  such  should  no 
longer  be  the  case.  Every  good  woman  is  made  better  by 

12* 


130  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

the  society  of  refined,  and  educated,  and  intelligent  men, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  every  such  man  is  improved  by 
association  with  modest,  virtuous,  and  accomplished  women. 
There  is  no  one  I  would  be  more  pleased  to  introduce  to 
you  than  my  friend  Mr.  Severne,  and  I  am  very  sure  he 
will  ask  me  to  do  so." 

"I  am  very  certain  I  shall  like  him.  He  must  be  very 
good  and  noble  to  think  of  doing  so  much  for  poor  Sarah 
Tompkins." 

"You  will  not  only  like  him,  my  dear  Margaret,  for  his 
benevolence.  It  is  very  rarely  the  case  that  any  one  can 
meet  Robert  Severne  without  learning  some  new  fact  or 
hearing  some  brilliant  thought  expressed,  and  yet  he  is  not 
in  the  least  pedantic.  He  does  not  even  seem  to  think  him- 
self better  educated  and  as  having  more  knowledge  than  the 
majority  of  mankind." 

Margaret  made  no  reply.  She  was  thinking  over  all  the 
events  of  the  day,  and  of  what  might  possibly  result  from 
them.  Her  curiosity,  and  even  a  deeper  interest,  were 
aroused  by  what  she  had  heard  from  her  grandfather  rela- 
tive to  Severne,  and  she  looked  forward  with  undisguised 
pleasure  to  becoming  acquainted  with  him. 

As  her  grandfather  had  remarked,  her  associations  with 
gentlemen  had  hitherto  been  extremely  limited.  In  fact, 
beyond  Goodall  and  one  or  two  old  friends  of  her  grand- 
father, of  about  his  own  age,  who  occasionally  took  a  Sun- 
day dinner  with  him,  she  only  knew  the  rector  and  the  as- 
sistant minister  of  St.  Barbara's  Church.  The  former  was 
the  father  of  two  grown-up  daughters,  and  the  latter  was 
on  the  look-out  for  an  opportunity  of  putting  himself  into 
that  condition  of  life  which  in  time  might  also  make  him  a 
father.  He  was  a  prim,  rather  shallow- minded  young  gen- 
tleman, with  a  very  long  neck,  a  very  small  nose,  very  large, 
colorless  eyes,  and  a  very  loud  and  determined  voice.  Alto- 
gether the  Rev.  Pusey  Porterfield  was  not  such  a  specimen 
of  the  genus  homo  as  a  young  girl  like  Margaret  Leslie 
would  look  up  to  as  a  superior  being. 

She  felt  that  what  her  grandfather  had  said  in  regard  to 
the  influence  exerted  upon  women  by  association  with  good, 
true,  and  well-bred  men  was  strictly  correct.  She  knew 
there  were  such  men.  She  had  read  of  them  in  history,  and 
she  had  seen  their  portraitures  drawn  in  works  of  fiction. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  131 

She  had  even — what  gentle,  warm-hearted,  and  virtnons  girl 
of  her  age  has  not  ? — formed  for  herself  an  ideal,  of  whom 
she  often  thought  as  she  built  the  castles  youth  so  delights 
to  erect,  and  who,  no  matter  how  difficult  and  dangerous 
the  positions  in  which  she,  in  imagination,  placed  him,  always 
came  out  of  them  in  the  end  with  his  courage  unsubdued 
and  his  honor  unscathed,  even  though  sometimes  he  suffered 
death  for  what  he  deemed  the  right.  The  qualities  which 
she  had  thus  learned  to  love  most  in  men  were  truth,  con- 
stancy, courage,  and  a  love  of  learning.  There  were  many 
others  which  she  admired,  but  these  took  precedence  of  all 
the  rest.  It  was  quite  natural  that  it  should  have  been  so 
w*hen  the  character  of  her  education  is  considered.  The 
stamp  which  this  had  received  was  given  by  her  grandfather 
and  Goodall.  The  books  they  had  placed  in  her  hands,  since 
she  had  been  of  an  age  to  understand  them,  were  not  those 
which  merely  related  dry  matters  of  fact,  but  such  as  were 
also  calculated  to  make  her  think,  to  develop  her  reason  at 
tbe  same  time  that  they  added  ,to  her  knowledge.  She  had 
read  the  Apology  of  Socrates,  and  several  others  of  the 
works  of  Plato,  and  had  asked  herself  at  first  if  it  were 
really  possible  so  noble  a  man  as  Socrates  could  ever  have 
lived,  who,  rather  than  do  what  he  knew  to  be  wrong,  was 
willing  to  suffer  death  1  Then,  as  she  read  further,  she 
came  to  understand  that  God  has  given  a  spark  of  his  di- 
vinity to  bis  creatures,  and  that  in  some  men  it  kindles  into 
a  flame  which  never  dies  out.  She  had  read  how  Fichte, 
when  a  boy,  had  thrown  his  dearly-valued  book,  the  History 
of  Siegfried  the  Horned,  into  the  brook  because  it  had  been 
the  means  of  causing  him  to  neglect  his  lessons ;  and  how, 
when  he  had  made  the  sacrifice,  he  sat  on  the  bank  and 
wept  as  though  his  little  heart  would  break,  as  his  beloved 
treasure  floated  away  out  of  sight.  She  had  read  the  lives 
of  Bayard,  of  Sidney,  of  Raleigh,  and  of  other  noble  spirits, 
and  she  knew  that  there  must  be  many  like  them  in  her  own 
day,  only  she  had  never  met  any  but  her  grandfather  and 
Goodall. 

And  then  the  thought  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  Mr. 
Severne  was  such  a  one.  Margaret  was  not  what  might 
be  called  romantic.  There  was  no  sickly  sentimentality  in 
her  composition ;  no  disposition  to  exaggerate  the  situa- 


132  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

tions  of  everyday  life  into  monstrous  improbabilities.  On 
the  contrary,  no  young  girl  could  have  been  more  natural 
and  simple-minded  without  being  weak,  more  guileless  and 
straightforward  without  being  coarse,  than  was  Margaret 
Leslie.  But  it  was  very  difficult  for  her  to  resist  the 
thought  that  it  was  just  possible  there  was  one  man  who 
might  be  the  incarnation  of  the  many  ideals  she  had 
formed  in  her  mind.  She  had  an  undefined  idea  that  she 
should  not  think  about  him  at  all ;  why,  she  could  not  tell. 
She  had  never  loved  any  of  her  imaginary  heroes,  nor  any 
of  the  real  ones  of  whom  she  had  read.  She  looked  upon 
them  as  superior  beings,  quite  beyond  her  sphere ;  as  ob- 
jects for  the  adoration  of  all  women  and  models  for  all 
men.  -  And  this  was  just  the  status  she  was  inclined  to 
award  to  Severne.  True,  she  had  never  heard  that  he  had 
ever  done  any  great  or  noble  acts ;  that  he  had  ever  suf- 
fered unjustly,  and  had  continued  to  bear  himself  loftily 
like  a  true  gentleman.  She  hoped,  however,  that  he  was  a 
man  who,  if  occasion  required,  would  act  his  part  as  be,- 
came  a  gentleman,  enduring  success  with  modesty,  and  even 
apparent  disgrace  with  honor. 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  her  mind,  the 
laboratory  bell  rang,  and  John  Holmes,  leaving  her  on  the 
piazza,  proceeded  to  the  room  in  which  he  passed  so  great 
a  portion  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    OLD    LOVE    AND    THB    NEW. 

DURING  a  portion  of  the  time  that  John  Holmes  and 
Margaret  were  talking  and  thinking,  as  we  have  set  forth 
in  the  last  chapter,  Joshua  and  Mrs.  Markland  were  inter- 
changing ideas  in  another  part  of  the  house.  The  house- 
keeper was  a  fine  buxom  widow  of  thirty-five,  by  no  means 
bad  looking  or  bad  dispositioned,  but  possessed  of  certain 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  133 

peculiarities  of  mind  which  gave  her  a  very  striking  indi- 
viduality, and  which  was  probably  one  reason  why  Joshua, 
who,  while  omitting  no  opportunity  of  picking  a  quarrel 
with  her,  was  unable  to  debar  himself  the  pleasure  he  re- 
ceived from  her  society.  Every  evening,  therefore,  before 
he  proceeded  to  his  work,  it  was  his  custom  to  spend  an 
hour  or  so  in  Mrs.  Markland's  sitting-room,  which,  though 
adjoining  the  laboratory,  had  no  direct  communication  with 
that  room.  Mrs.  Markland  had  just  finished  her  dinner, 
and  had  seated  herself  in  a  large  rocking-chair,  which  she 
was  causing  to  oscillate  with  a  degree  of  vigor  and  rapidity 
quite  inconsistent  with  that  repose  which  the  digestive 
organs  are  supposed  to  require  after  a  full  meal.  The  room 
was  a  very  cosy  and  comfortable  apartment.  There  was  a 
mat  on  the  floor, '  a  center-table  loaded  with  annuals, 
albums,  and  other  resplendently  bound  books;  an  etag&re 
covered  with  such  objets  de  vertu  as  itinerant  Israelites  dis- 
pose of  in  exchange  for  dilapidated  garments ;  a  mantle- 
piece  upon  which  stood  a  cup  and  saucer  of  Brobdignagian 
size,  elaborately  ornamented  with  arabesques  in  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  others  not  found  in  the  celestial 
arc,  and  inscribed  in  gilt  letters,  "  To  my  Husband."  This 
triumph  of  the  ceramic  art  was  flanked  on  either  side  by 
a  china  shepherd,  in  Highland  costume,  holding  a  sheep  in 
his  arms,  and  looking  fearfully  at  a  big  dog  which  crouched 
at  his  feet.  On  the  walls  hung  numerous  photographs  of 
large  size,  representing  smiling  personages  of  the  sterner 
sex,  dressed  in  various  modifications  of  a  costume  consist- 
ing in  the  main  of  stockinet  shirt  and  nether  garments,  be- 
decked with  spangles.  Close  observation  revealed  the  fact 
that  all  these  represented  one  and  the  same  graceful  indi- 
vidual. Underneath  these  portraits  were  legends  setting 
forth  their  several  characteristics,  in  this  wise  :  "As  he  ap- 
peared in  his  great  character  of  Mazeppa;"  "As  he  ap- 
peared in  his  wonderful  four-horse  act;"  "As  he  appeared 
in  the  grand  equestrian  drama  of  the  'Winged  Bucepha- 
lus,'"and  so  on  for  a  dozen  others.  The  windows  were 
hung  with  white  dimity  curtains,  and  in  a  corner  stood  a 
guitar,  which  was  evidently  in  frequent  use,  as  the  strings 
were  complete. 

The  fair  occupant  was  swaying  herself  backward  and  for- 


134  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

ward  with  all  her  propulsive  force,  when  there  was  a  knock 
on  the  open  door,  and,  without  stopping  for  an  invitation, 
Joshua  emerged  into  full  view,  and  popped  into  a  chair  just 
within  the  domain  of  the  widow. 

"Well,  Mr.  Joshua,"  she  exclaimed,  "this  is  an  awful 
hot  day,  and  it's  very  hard  on  you  and  me,  who  have  to 
spend  so  much  of  our  time  over  fires.  My  poor  dear 
Markland — who  was  as  good  a  man  as  ever  drew  the  breath 
of  life,  if  he  was  a  circus-rider — used  to  say,  'All  things  are 
for  the  best,  Adelina;  let  us  act  well  our  parts,  and  the 
dim,  mysterious  future  will  no  longer  have  power  to  terrify 
us.'  Is  there  any  news  ?" 

"  Yes,  there's  plenty  of  news,"  replied  Joshua,  "  and  bad 
news  at  that.  If  there  never  had  been  a  woman  created  in 
this  world,  there  might  have  been  happiness.  'And  now 
what  is  it  ?'  I  think  I  hear  you  say.  You  shall  be  an- 
swered. All  the  labor  of  Mr.  Holmes  and  me  is  gone. 
Gone  by  the  interference  of  one  of  your  sex,  Mrs.  Mark- 
land  :  .197  is  played  out,  for  the  next  two  years,  at  least. 
And  to  think  that  Miss  Margaret  should  have  done  it ! 
Now,  if  it  had  been  you,  it  would  not  have  been  surpris- 
ing." 

At  this  most  unprovoked  attack,  Mrs.  Markland,  with  a 
Christian  forbearance  that  was  truly  admirable,  smiled 
sweetly,  disclosing  as  she  did  so  a  very  fine  set  of  teeth, 
but  made  no  reply. 

"  Oh,  you  may  smile,  Mrs.  Markland,"  continued  the 
irate  Joshua.  "  Nero  fiddled  when  Rome  was  burning ; 
and  some  women  I  know  of,  who  don't  live  very  far  from 
New  York,  nor  from  this  house  neither,  have  no  more  com- 
punctions than  a  tiger.  How  would  you  like  it  if  I  was  to 
smash  that  cup  and  saucer  there  ?" 

Mrs.  Markland  smiled  again ;  this  time  quite  incredu- 
lously. "Oh,  Mr.  Joshua,"  she  said,  very  softly,  "that 
would  be  impossible.  You  would  not  have  the  heart  to  de- 
stroy the  gift  which  a  gushing  bride  of  eighteen  summers 
presented  to  her  husband  on  the  first  anniversary  of  her 
wedding !  I  never  shall  forget  what  he  said.  My  poor 
dear  Markland — who  was  as  good  a  man  as  ever  drew  the 
breath  of  life,  if  he  was  a  circus-rider — took  the  cup,  and 
filling  it  with  ale — he  never  drank  anything  stronger  than 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  135 

ale — looked  me  in  the  face  with  all  the  tenderness  of  which 
he  was  master,  and  said  : 

'  I  fill  this  cup  to  one  made  up  of  loveliness  alone ' — 

and  then  drained  it;  to  the  dregs.  Wasn't  it  pretty  ? 
Wasn't  it  graceful  ?  But  then,  Markland  was  one  of  the 
most  graceful  men  I  ever  saw.  Did  you  ever  see  him  in  his 
great  four-horse  act  ?" 

"  I  never  went  to  a  circus  in  my  life,"  growled  Joshua. 

"  I  never  shall  forget  the  first  time  I  went,"  said  Mrs. 
Markland,  with  a  sigh.  "  It  was  there  that  I  saw  for  the 
first  .time  iny  poor  dear  Markland,  who  was  as  good  a  man 
as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life,  if  he  was  a  circus-rider.  I 
was  but  a  simple-hearted  maiden  of  seventeen  summers  ;  he 
was  an  agile  and  a  graceful  man.  Perhaps  I  was  good- 
looking,  and  perhaps  I  had  been  well  educated  at  the  Mar- 
tha Washington  Female  Institute.  But  that  was  all.  I 
was  a  giddy  and  a  joyous  girl,  with  no  thought  for  the  mor- 
row. The  performance  was  half  over,  and  nothing  had 
occurred  to  disturb  the  even  current  of  my  thoughts,  when 
suddenly  there  was  a  blast  of  trumpets,  and  a  gentleman 
dressed  in  green  velvet  and  white  silk,  beautifully  embroid- 
ered in  gold  and  silver — his  hair  encircled  by  a  band  of 
gold,  a  winged  rod  in  his  hand,  and  silver  wings  on  his 
feet — sprang  into  the  ring.  The  ring-master  said  :  '  Mr. 
Markland  as  Mercury.'  Mr.  Marklaud  bowed  to  the  audi- 
ence, and  as  he  raised  his  head  our  eyes  met.  I  have  only 
a  dim  recollection  of  the  rest.  I  was  overwhelmed.  I  did 
not  see  how  gracefully  he  rode  round  the  ring  on  his  fiery 
courser,  but  I  heard  the  shouts  of  the  crowd,  and  when  I 
again  became  myself,-he  was  gone.  The  next  day  ma,  at 
my  request,  invited  him  to  tea.  We  took  it  early,  for  he 
had  to  act  at  T  o'clock.  He  came  every  day  while  the  cir- 
cus remained  in  our  village.  Why  should  I  say  more  ?  I 
married  him,  and  have  never  regretted  it  to  this  day." 

"I  think  I  have  heard  that  before,"  said  Joshua,  sul- 
lenly. 

"  I  dare  say  you  have,  Mr.  Joshua.  Perhaps  you  have 
heard  it  from  me ;  but  then  I  am  sure  it  always  interests 
you." 

"No,  it  doesn't." 


136  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"  No  !"  smiled  Mrs.  Markland.  "  Then  it's  because  you 
are  so  learned.  Your  thoughts  are  lifted  up  beyond  this 
common  life  of  ours." 

"  No,  it  isn't  that  neither.  It's  because  I'm  tired  of  hear- 
ing it." 

"  Then  I'll  never  tell  it  to  you  again.  It  shall  be  buried 
with  my  poor  dear  Markland,  who  was  as  good  a  man  as 
ever  drew  the  breath  of  life,  if  he  was  a  circus-rider.  He's 
dead, "she  continued,  drawing  a  white  cambric  handkerchief 
from  her  pocket  and  holding  it  to  her  eyes.  "  He  died, 
doing  his  duty  in  his  splendid  four- horse  act,  of  a  broken 
back,  because  two  of  the  horses  wouldn't  go  the  right  way. 
Cut  off  in  the  bloom  of  manhood,  and  I  am  left  alone  in 
this  cold  world,  with  no  one  to  protect  or  care  for  me." 

"  That's  not  true,"  said  Joshua,  doggedly. 

"Oh  yes,  Mr.  Joshua,  it  is  true, — alas  !  too  true.  Who 
is  there  to  care  for  me  ?  And  I  am  so  trusting,  so  confiding, 
so  simple-minded  yet,  even  if  I  have  passed  the  bloom  of 
my  youth  !" 

Joshua  rose  from  his  chair  and  paced  the  room  in  an  agi- 
tated manner,  while  Mrs.  Markland  sobbed  violently  behind 
her  cambric  handkerchief. 

"  My  poor  dear  Markland,"  sobbed  the  widow,  "  who 
was  as  good  a  man  as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life,  if  he  was 
a  circus-rider,  said  to  me  the  night  he  died — almost  the  last 
words  he  said — 'Adelina,  you  are  too  good  for  this  world  ; 
you  have  been  a  good  wife  to  me,  a  much  better  one  than  a 
poor  circus- rider  deserved.  Will  you  make  me  a  promise 
before  I  die  ?'  'Anything,  my  dear  Markland,  that  you  can 
ask,'  I  said,  through  my  tears,  which  were  falling  thick  and 
fast.  '  Then  promise  me  that  if  you  should  marry  again,  you 
will  marry  a  man  of  science.'  He  made  such  a  point  of  it 
that  I  promised.  And — and — here  I  am." 

The  recollection  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Markland's 
strength,  for  her  sobs  redoubled  in  violence,  and  her  face, 
still  covered  by  her  handkerchief,  fell  till  it  rested  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair. 

Joshua  stopped  in  his  walk  and  stood  in  front  of  the 
weeping  widow.  He  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind  to 
say  something  very  decided,  for  his  brows  were  knit,  his 
hands  were  clinched,  and  his  whole  appearance  was  that  of 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  137 

a  man  who  had  determined  upon  a  certain  course,  though  it 
might  not  be  a  very  agreeable  one. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  that  makes  you  feel  lonely  and 
miserable,  if  you  would  like  me  to,"  he  said,  in  his  spas- 
modic way. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Joshua,  if  you  only  would  I  could  throw  my- 
self at  your  feet  and  bless  you  forever." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  of  that  kind,  but  I'll 
tell  you,  and  cure  you,  too,  if  you'll  let  me." 

"  Say  and  do  what  you  please,  I  will  be  like  a  lamb  in 
your  hands." 

"Then  you  just  listen  to  me," said  Joshua,  getting  almost 
ferocious  in  his  excitement.  "  You've  got  a  lot  of  relics 
here  that  make  you  melancholy.  '  What's  the  use  of  that 
cup  and  saucer,  and  all  those  pictures,  except  to  remind  you 
of  him  that's  dead  and  gone  these  ten  years  and  more  ? 
Every  time  I  come  in  here  to  have  a  little  pleasant  talk  with 
you  about  matters  and  things  in  general,  you  tell  me  about 
him,  and  work  yourself  up  into  a  fever  over  a  man  that 
never  can  be  anything  more  to  yon  in  this  world.  Now, 
you've  put  yourself  in  my  charge,  and  I  mean  to  do  my 
duty  by  you  just  as  sure  as  my  name's  Joshua.  I've  stood 
this  kind  of  thing  long  enough,  and  I  don't  mean  to  stand 
it  any  longer  if  I  kuow  myself." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Joshua,  what  do  you  mean  to  do?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Markland,  clasping  her  hands  together  and  looking  at 
him  in  the  most  anxious  manner.  "But  I  am  passive,  as 
my  poor  dear  Markland,  who  was  as  good  a  man " 

"Now  you  stop,"  said  Joshua,  "and  let  me  alone,  for 
I'm  going  to  end  this  thing ;  I'm  not  going  to  have  your 
peace  of  mind  and  mine,  too,  ruined  by  your  relics." 

With  these  words,  Joshua  began  to  remove  the  photo- 
graphs of  the  deceased  Markland  from  the  wall,  and  to  make 
a  pile  of  them  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  He  then  took 
the  cup  and  saucer  from  the  mantle-piece  and  placed  them 
on  top.  Mrs.  Markland  watched  his  proceedings  with  the 
greatest  interest  depicted  on  her  countenance  and  with  her 
plump  hands  still  clasped  together,  but  she  did  not  utter' 
a  word, — she  appeared  to  be  stupefied  by  the  enormity  of 
Joshua's  proceedings. 

13 


138  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"Are  those  shepherds  relics,  too?"  said  Joshua,  pointing 
to  the  Highlanders  who  occupied  the  ends  of  the  mantle- 
piece. 

Mrs.  Markland  could  only  shake  her  head  negatively. 

"  No  more  in  this  room  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  great  effort.  "  There's 
a  photograph  in  that  album,  and  he  gave  me  those  wax 
flowers  on  the  etagere." 

Joshua  proceeded  with  the  utmost  dignity  to  add  these 
to  the  pile. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that's  all  ?" 

Mrs.  Markland  bowed  her  head  in  token  of  affirmation. 

"  Then  here  goes  to  make  an  end  of  the  whole  lot,"  ex- 
claimed Joshua,  seizing  a  flat-iron  that  stood  on  the  hearth, 
and  with  savage  energy  dashing  it  repeatedly  with  all  his 
force  upon  the  fragile  pile,  till  he  had  thoroughly  demolished 
the  materials  of  which  it  was  composed,  and  left  nothing 
but  a  scattered  mass  of  fragments  of  broken  china  and  glass 
and  torn  paper.  "  There's  an  end  of  the  relics,  anyhow, 
and  I  hope  I  may  be  blessed  forever  and  ever  !" 

So  intense  was  his  abstraction  that  he  had  not  noticed 
that  Mrs.  Markland,  apparently  unable  to  endure  the  sight 
of  the  sacrifice  which  was  being  offered,  had  lost  conscious- 
ness and  slipped  from  her  chair  to  the  floor,  where  she  lay 
with  no  sign  of  life  perceptible. 

Joshua  was  not  a  cruel  man,  and  now  that  his  excitement 
had  reached  its  height,  he  began  to  experience  the  feeling 
of  depression  which  invariably  follows  on  all  exaggerated 
emotions.  He  saw  stretched  before  him  on  the  floor,  in  an 
apparently  lifeless  condition,  a  woman  for  whom  he  had  long 
felt  a  tender  regard,  which  only  her  constant  reference  to 
her  deceased  husband  had  prevented  him  from  manifesting 
in  an  unmistakable  manner.  He  knew  that  Mrs.  Markland 
had  only  fainted,  but  he  thought  he  ought  to  do  something 
to  restore  her.  What,  he  scarcely  knew.  In  default  of  any 
better  proceeding  suggesting  itself,  he  sat  down  on  the  floor 
beside  her,  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  began  to  rub  them 
vigorously.  He  continued  this  exercise  for  several  minutes 
before  the  effects  began  to  be  manifested.  Then  his  patient 
gave  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  moved  herself  a  little,  and  opened 
her  eyes.  She  did  not  look  at  all  displeased ;  on  the  con- 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  139 

trary,  there  was  a  melancholy  smile  playing  about  her  mouth, 
which  seemed  to  express  his  pardon,  and  she  did  not  attempt 
to  withdraw  her  hands  from  his. 

"  I  know  I've  been  very  weak,  and  that  what  you  have 
done  is  all  for  the  best,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
above  a  whisper,  and  with  a  most  forgiving  expression  of 
countenance.  "  I'll  never  talk  any  more  as  I  used  to,  and 
perhaps  in  time  you  will  get  to  like  me  just  a  little." 

"  I  like  you  a  good  deal  now,"  said  Joshua,  frankly. 

"  I  think  I  feel  strong  enough  to  get  up  now,"  she  re- 
marked, in  a  weak  voice. 

Joshua  assisted  her  to  rise,  and  placed  her  in  her  chair 
again. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  away  ?"  he  said,  after  he  had 
performed  these  little  offices. 

"  Oh  no,  do  not  leave  me.  You  have  no  idea  how  great 
a  comfort  your  presence  is  to  me." 

"Adelina,"  said  Joshua,  taking  one  of  her  hands,  "would 
yon  like  me  to  stay  with  you  always  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  murmured. 

"Then  I'll  do  it.  I'll  take  the  place  of  him  that's  gone, 
and  I'll  get  you  a  lot  of  pictures,  and  another  cup  and  sau- 
cer to-morrow." 

"Oh,  Joshua,"  said  the  widow,  "how  happy  I  am  !  Let 
the  cup  be  inscribed  in  letters  of  living  gold, — '  From  Joshua 
to  Adelina;'  and  you'll  -take  care  of  your  little  woman, 
won't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will !" 

"And  you'll  soon  get  used  to  her  light  heart  and  thought- 
less ways,  so  unlike  your  own,  which  are  so  weighty  and 
serious." 

"I  don't  want  to  get  used  to  them.  I  want  to  be  sur- 
prised by  them  every  day.  I  am  used  to  too  many  things. 
There's  all  that  work  in  the  laboratory;  I've  been  used  to 
that  for  years,  and  what  am  I  ?  I  should  like  to  have  that 
question  answered.  What  am  I  ?" 

"You  are  my  own  dear  Joshua,  forever  and  ever,"  said 
the  widow,  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Now  all  my  work  is  to  be  gone  over,"  resumed  Joshua, 
without  seeming  to  notice  the  interruption.  "  Miss  Margaret 
has  ruined  it.  I'm  sure  now  we  will  never  get  197." 


140  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

"Dear  Joshua,  what  is  197,  and  why  do  you  spend  all 
your  nights  in  that  hot  room  over  a  furnace  ?" 

Joshua  was  now  in  his  element  once  more. 

"  Oh,  that's  science,  you  see  ;  a  vain  and  a  perverse  science. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  my  worthy  friend,  Henry  Cornelius 
Agrippa,  Knight,  says  of  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  Joshua,  whatever  your  friends  say  will 
always  be  welcome  to  my  ears." 

Joshua  took  a  small  look  out  of  his  pocket  and  read : 

"'An  art  •which  good  men  hate  and  most  men  blame, 
Which  her  admirers  practice  to  their  shame; 
Whose  plain  impostures,  easier  to  perceive, 
Not  only  others  but  themselves  deceive.'" 

"  What  beautiful  poetry  !  Blame,  shame  ;  perceive,  de- 
ceive. Did  you  know  Mr.  Knight  very  well,  and  is  he  a 
very  good  friend  of  yours  ?  I  don't  believe  you  would  de- 
ceive anybody.  You  would  not  deceive  me,  would  you, 
Joshua  ?" 

"  No,  I  would  not.  The  best  and  the  worst  person  I  ever 
deceived  is  myself.  I  don't  know  Mr.  Knight.  This  book 
was  written  by  the  great,  the  immortal  Henry  Cornelius 
Agrippa.  He  was  a  knight,  a  doctor  of  both  laws,  a  judge, 
and  a  counselor.  The  amount  of  consolation  I've  got  out 
of  this  book  is  wonderful.  It's  been  a  great  comfort  to  me. 
It  says,  '  Chemists  are  the  most  perverse  men  that  live,'  and 
I  know  that's  true  ;  and  it  says, '  They  will  sell  their  souls 
for  three  farthings,'  and  that  was  true  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  But  it's  not  true  now,  dear  Joshua,  is  it, — even  if  you 
are  a  chemist  ?" 

"I'm  not  even  a  chemist.  I  am  what  my  guide  and  my 
friend,  Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  calls  a  cacochemist,  and 
that's  worse  than  a  chemist." 

"  How  learned  you  are  !  What  beautiful  names  you 
know  !  You  must  teach  me  some  of  them,  and  in  return  I'll 
read  you  some  of  my  poetry." 

"  Do  you  write  poetry  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  write,  and  sing  my  verses  to  the  tunes  they 
used  to  play  at  the  circus,  as  my  poor  dear " 

Mrs.  Markland  was  proceeding  with  her  usual  panegyric 
on  her  deceased  lord,  when,  happening  to  cast  her  eyes  on 


ROBERT    SB  VERNE.  141 

the  floor,  she  saw  the  remains  of  Joshua's  act  of  demolition. 
With  scarcely  a  pause  of  a  second,  she  continued  : 

"  Mother  said  to  me  once,  'Adelina,  you  are  a  bird  of 
song  as  sweet  as  a  nightingale.  There's  more  music  in  one 
verse  of  your  poetry  than  in  the  whole  village  band.'" 

"I  wish  you  would  say  just  one  verse  now,"  said  Joshua, 
looking  very  loving  and  sheepish  at  the  same  time. 

"  Yes,  dear  Joshua,  I  will  recite  a  little  waif  I  wrote  not 
long  since.  It  is  a  heart  story  of  a  maiden  who  had  been 
misunderstood  by  her  lover,  and  who,  rather  than  exist  in  a 
world  that  had  lost  all  charm  for  her,  resolved  to  drown 
herself  in  the  raging  sea.  It  is  a  touching  little  thing.  I 
call  it — 

"THE  SHADE  AND  SUNSHINE  OP  A  MAIDEN'S  HEART. 

"The  moon  was  rising  from  the  troubled  sea. 

The  clouds  rushed  wildly,  madly  through  the  sky, 
The  stars  shed  forth  their  twinkling  light  on  me, 
As  sadly,  mournfully,  I  came  to  die. 

"I  sat  upon  the  cold  and  clammy  beach, 

Prepared  to  plunge  into  the  roaring  foam, 

When  suddenly  I  heard  a  deafening  screech, 

And  Henry  came  to  bear  me  to  my  home. 

"He  bore  me  to  my  humble  cottage  door, 

Holding  me  to  his  true  and  manly  heart; 
'At  last!  at  last!'  he  cried,  'our  grief  is  o'er, 
And  Jane  and  Henry  never  more  shall  part.' 

"Unto  the  village  church  we  hied  next  day, 

And  in  the  silence  of  that  sacred  spot 
We  took  the  vows  that  lovers  like  to  say, 
And  ever  since  have  gloried  in  our  lot. 
* 

"  I  sing  it,"  she  continued,  "  to  the  tune  the  band  used  to 
play  when  Herr  Otto  Motty  was  balancing  plates  on  a  long 
stick  and  catching  cannon  balls  on  the  back  of  his  neck." 

"  It's  beautiful  !  too  beautiful  for  a  cacochernist  like  me  !" 
said  Joshua,  with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "I  never  liked 
poetry  before ;  for,  as  my  worthy  friend,  Henry  Cornelius 
Agrippa,  Knight,  says,  so  I  thought,  that  it  is  'An  art  in- 
vented to  no  other  purpose,  but  with  lascivious  rhymes, 

13* 


142  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

measure  ot  syllables,  and  the  gurgling  noise  of  fine  words,  to 
allure  and  charm  the  ears  of  men  addicted  to  folly.'  But  a 
man  who  is  right  on  so  many  other  points  must  be  wrong  on 
a  few,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  I  don't  like  to  lose  confi- 
dence in  my  friend  and  guide  though — I  don't  like  it." 

"  We  won't  talk  about  him  any  longer.  Dear  Joshua, 
.what  will  be  my  name  when  we  are  married?  My  maiden 
name  was  so  pretty, — Adelina  Alderly, — and  the  one  I  used 
to  sign  to  my  little  waifs  was  beautiful — Vinie  Violet." 

Joshua  had  always  been  known  as  Joshua,  neither  more 
nor  less.  The  one  name  was  sufficient,  and  he  would  not 
have  tolerated  Josh.  Still,  he  had  a  surname,  and  of  course 
it  was  a  laudable  instance  of  female  curiosity  that  his  fu- 
ture wife  should  wish  to  know  the  cognomen  she  was  to 
bear.  It  was  not,  however,  at  all  euphonious ;  not  to  be 
compared  to  that  of  Adelina  Alderly,  or  even  Markland, 
and  Joshua  therefore  felt  that  his  affianced  bride  would  ex- 
perience some  disappointment  when  she  heard  it.  However, 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  tell  it. 

"  My  name  is  Joshua,"  he  at  length  answered. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall  always  know  you  as  Joshua,  and  call 
you  so,  too,  if  you  will  let  me ;  but  what  will  the  world  call 
me?" 

"  Why,  it  will  call  you  Mrs.  Joshua,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Markland  smiled  at  what  she  regarded  as  a  good 
joke  on  the  part  of  her  lover. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Joshua,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  "you  are  making  fun  of  your  little  woman  ! 
Naughty  man  !"  she  continued,  patting  his  cheek  lightly. 

Joshua  appeared  to  like  the  imputation  and  the  conse- 
quent situation  of  affairs,  for  he  took  the  rebuke  and  the 
chastisement  with  a  grim  sort  of  smile.  He  had  a  duty  to 
do,  however.  • 

"  My  name  is  Joshua  Joshua,"  he  said,  with  a  spasmodic 
desperation. 

"Joshua  Joshua!  two  Joshuas?"  inquired  Mrs.  Mark- 
land,  with  a  blank  expression  of  countenance. 

"Yes,  but  they  both  begin  with  a  J,  and  Adelina  Alderly 
has  two  A's,  and  Vinie  Violet  two  Vs." 

"  It's  not  a  pretty  name,  though,  is  it,  dear  ?" 

"  No,  it's  not  pretty." 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  143 

"  We  might  change  the  last  Joshua,"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  What  would  you  change  it  to  ?" 

"  We  might  make  an  anagram  of  it,  as  great  men  did  iu 
years  gone  by.  Let  me  see  ;  suppose  we  change  it  to  Hu- 
jaso.  That  is  really  beautiful ;  so  expressive,  so  aristocratic  ! 
Adelina  Hujaso  is  sweet,  and  Joshua  Hujaso,  Esquire,  is 
dignified  and  grand." 

"  I  have  no  objection  whatever,"  said  Joshua,  resignedly. 
"Let  it  be  Hujaso.  I  think  myself  it  is  better  than  Joshua." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  widow,  triumphantly. 
"  You  will  not  regret  the  change  ?" 

"  No,  not  a  bit.  I  must  leave  you  now,  Adelina.  There's 
plenty  of  things  to  get  ready  in  the  laboratory  to-night,  and 
Mr.  Holmes  always  likes  to  be  called  at  ten  o'clock." 

"Must  you  go?     And  so  soon,  too  !     Can  I  help  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you  can.  We  have  got  the  whole 
analytical  process  to  go  over  again  since  Miss  Margaret 
made  the  solution  crystallize  before  it  was  time.  Good 
night,  Adelina." 

"G-ood  night,  dear  Joshua.     Won't  you  kiss  me?" 

Joshua  kissed  her  cheek,  then  her  lips,  and  without  an- 
other word  stalked  determinedly  out  of  the  room. 

When  he  had  fairly  closed  the  door  behind  him,  Mrs. 
Markland  rose  from  her  chair  and  took  a  glance  at  herself 
in  the  mirror  which  hung  in  the  pier.  She  was  apparently 
well  satisfied  with  the  inspection,  for  a  smile  passed  over 
her  features.  She  then  took  a  survey  of  the  ruins  Joshua 
had  left  of  her  household  gods.  She  regarded  the  scattered 
fragments  on  the  floor  very  attentively  and  reflectively  for 
several  minutes.  Then  she  walked  up  to  the  largest  pile 
which  still  remained  and  stamped  upon  it  with  both  feet  till 
she  had  reduced  it  to  a  mass  of  still  smaller  pieces,  which 
she  kicked  with  great  energy  about  the  room.  She  then 
proceeded  to  a  like  work  of  destruction  with  all  the  bits 
sufficiently  large  to  require  further  demolition. 

"There  1"  she  exclaimed,  when  her  labor,  which  she  viewed 
with  intense  but  savage  gratification,  was  completed.  "  That's 
the  end  of  yon,  you  vile,  miserable,  disgusting  brute!  To 
thiuk  that  I  should  have  been  tied  to  such  a  villain.  Why 
didn't  you  break  your  back  before  I  saw  you,  you  beggarly 
mountebank  ?"  she  continued,  with  increased  fierceness,  as 


144  ROBERT    SB  VERNE. 

she  perceived  a  piece  of  one  of  the  photographs,  which  she 
picked  up  and  tore  to  atoms.  "Oh,  you  scoundrel  !" 

Exhausted  with  her  exertions,  the  fair  widow  dropped 
into  a  chair  and  fanned  herself  till  her  heat  of  mind  and 
body  had  somewhat  subsided.  Then  she  took  a  broom  and 
swept  up  the  bits  of  china,  glass,  and  paper  quite  clean  and 
put  them  into  a  coal-scuttle. 

"  I  feel  tired,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  again  sat  down.  "I 
think  I'll  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  I  feel  refreshed  enough  to 
mount  those  stairs.  Altogether  it  has  not  been  a  bad  day's 
work.  Talk  of  the  sense  of  men  I  Why,  one  woman's 
worth  fifty  of  them.  I'd  like  to  see  the  one  that  could  fool 
me.  I'll  pay  him  up  some  day  for  all  his  insults  ;  and  I'll 
twist  him  round  my  little  finger  in  the  mean  time,  too.  I'll 
not  have  any  of  this  fool's  work  going  on  all  night  after  I'm 
married, — not  I  indeed.  Joshua !  As  if  I,  a  born  Alderly, 
was  going  to  take  such  a  name  !" 

Apparently  overcome  with  fatigue  and  the  force  of  her 
emotions,  Mrs.  Markland's  head  fell  forward  on  her  breast, 
and  in  a  few  moments  she  was  sound  asleep  in  her  chair. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

"GO    AND    SIN    NO    MORE." 

AFTER  parting  with  the  acquaintance  who  had  given  her 
the  information  relative  to  the  proposed  burglary,  Sal  Tomp- 
kins  quickened  her  pace,  and  soon  reached  a  section  of  the 
city  the  character  of  which  was  easily  to  be  inferred  from  a 
very  superficial  inspection  of  the  residents  and  of  the  dwell- 
ings in  which  they  lived.  There  were  gaudily-dressed  and 
brazen-faced  women  leaning  out  of  the  open  windows  and 
calling  to  the  passers-by,  and  others  who,  with  scarcely 
clothes  enough  on  them  to  hide  their  nakedness,  flitted  in 
their  bare  feet  from  house  to  house,  quarreling  and  cursing, 
or  laughing  uproariously,  as  the  feeling  of  the  moment  dic- 
tated. There  were  coarse,  brutal-looking  men,  clothed  in 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  145 

fine  broadcloth,  and  sporting  enormous  watch-chains  and 
finger-rings,  and  others  who  sat  at  the  doors  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves, ready  to  drive  a  bargain  for  second-hand  clothes  or 
sham  jewelry  with  any  one  verdant  or  poor  enough  to  enter 
their  dens;  and  there  were  children  witnesses  of  crime  and 
shame,  and  approaching  with  rapid  strides  the  stage  of 
wickedness  to  which  their  elders  had  attained. 

Sal  hurried  along,  not  stopping  to  reply  to  the  saluta- 
tions with  which  she  was  constantly  greeted  by  men  and 
women,  and  ere  long  arrived  at  a  house  very  similar  in  gen- 
eral appearance  to  those  by  which  it  was  surrounded,  except 
that  it  was  somewhat  larger  and  in  better  condition.  She 
ascended  the  three  or  four  stone  steps  which  led  to  the  en- 
trance and  tried  to  open  the  door.  It  was  locked,  so  she 
gave  the  bell  a  violent  pull,  and  probably  knowing  by  ex- 
perience that  it  would  not  be  answered  very  promptly,  sat 
down  on  the  upper  step  and  waited  as  patiently  as  she  could 
for  admission.  A  window  was  first  cautiously  opened, 'and 
then  she  heard  steps  in  the  hall.  It  took  some  little  time 
to  unbar  and  unlock  the  door,  but  finally  this  work  was  ac- 
complished, and  Sal  crossed  the  threshold. 

The  woman  who  opened  the  door  looked  sharply  at  the 
girl  as  she  .admitted  her.  She  had  a  very  piercing  dark 
pair  of  eyes  to  use  for  this  purpose,  and  had  evidently  once 
been  handsome.  Her  hair,  which  was  of  an  intensely  black 
hue,  streamed  over  her  bare  shoulders  unconfined  by  band 
or  comb,  and  her  frock  clung  close  to  her  limbs,  allowing 
her  naked  feet  to  be  seen  as  she  preceded  Sal  along  the  pas- 
sage-way. And  yet  the  woman  had  an  appearance  of  neat- 
ness about  her  not  quite  in  accordance  with  her  surround- 
ings. Her  hair  was  not  at  all  tangled,  but  was  parted 
smoothly  and  brushed  back  from  her  forehead,  her  frock 
was  clean,  and  her  face  and  hands  gave  evidence  of  no  very 
remote  application  of  soap  and  water. 

"  You  don't  seem  as  if  you  were  in  a  very  good  humor 
to-night,  Betsey,"  said  Sal,  after  they  had  ascended  the  first 
flight  of  stairs,  and  the  latter  stood  in  the  hall  with  her 
hand  on  the  door  knob  of  the  front  room.  "Come  in  and 
let's  have  a  talk  while  I  dress." 

Thus  accosted,  Betsey's  face  assumed  a  more  pleasant 
expression,  and  she  followed  Sal  into  the  room. 


146  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

The  apartment  was  very  comfortably,  and  in  some  re- 
spects luxuriously,  furnished.  It  extended  the  whole  width 
of  the  house,  was  well  lighted,  had  plenty  of  chairs  and 
tables  in  it,  a  large,  neat-looking  bed,  a  good  carpet,  and 
many  little  ornaments  scattered  about  it.  Betsey  sat  down, 
and  Sal  at  once  began  to  make  her  toilet. 

"No,  Sal,"  said  the  former,  "I'm  not  in  a  good  humor, 
and  what's  more,  I  don't  expect  to  be  while  things  go  on 
as  they  do." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Betsey  ?"  inquired  Sal,  who  had 
already  divested  herself  of  her  outside  garments  and  was 
busy  at  the  wash-basin. 

"  It's  well  enough  for  yon  to  ask  what's  the  matter  when 
you're  out  of  the  house  all  day.  But  I  should  think  that 
even  you  could  see  what's  the  matter ;  and  perhaps  you 
ain't  so  ignorant  as  you  seem." 

"  Is  it  me,  Betsey  ?     Have  I  done  anything  ?" 

"  I  don't  say  you  have,  Sal  Tompkius,  and  it's  well  for 
you  I  don't  know  you  have." 

"  Then  it  is  me,  is  it,  Betsey  ?" 

"  I  don't  say  yes  or  no." 

"Look  here,  Betsey,"  said  Sal,  stopping  in  her  ablutions 
and  speaking  very  earnestly.  "  Don't  let  there,  be  any  bad 
blood  between  you  and  me.  If  you  think  I've  done  you 
any  harm,  say  so  at  once." 

Betsey  was  silent,  and  Sal  continued : 

"  I've  told  you  a  great  many  things  in  my  time,  and  I 
never  told  you  a  lie.  I  may  have  lied  to  others,  but  I  never 
lied  to  any  one  in  this  house.  If  you've  got  anything  to  ask 
me,  do  it,  and  I'll  tell  you  the  truth  ;  but  don't  get  in  a  bad 
humor  with  me  till  you  know  you've  cause,  and  don't  you 
threaten  me,  Betsey,  for  I  won't  stand  that  from  anybody." 

'  Where's  Jack  ?"  said  Betsey,  angrily. 
I  don't  know." 

'  Weren't  you  with  him  this  morning  ?" 

'No." 

'  Nor  last  night  ?» 

I  wasn't  out  of  this  room  last  night,  and  Jack  wasn't  in 
it.  If  you  think  I  know  anything  of  Jack  Duggan,  you're 
mistaken,  Betsey." 

"Well,  I  believe  you  Sal,  and  I  ask  your  pardon.     I 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  147 

never  knew  you  to  tell  any  of  us  a  lie.  Somehow,  Jack 
doesn't  seem  to  care  for  me  any  more,  and  I  thought  may  be 
he  had  taken  up  with  you.  He  was  here  this  afternoon  with 
Jim  and  Bill,  and  he  hardly  spoke  to  me.  Perhaps  it  was 
because  he  was  busy." 

"  Yes, "said  Sal,  not  appearing  to  evince  much  interest  in 
the  matter.  "  I  met  Bill,  and  he  told  me  Jack  had  got  up 
a  party  for  to-night." 

"  Yes,  they  are  going  on  a  big  lay  to-night ;  but  still  I 
think,  for  all  that,  Jack  might  have  spoken  to  me  more  than 
he  did." 

"It  must  have  been  because  he  was  very  busy,  Betsey. 
I  know  Jack  is  a  good  friend  of  yours.  Do  you  know  who 
is  to  be  cracked  to-night  ?" 

"An  old  fellow  named  Holmes,  who  is  very  rich,  and  has 
plenty  of  silver  in  his  house." 

"  Has  Jim  been  here  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  went  out  about  half  an  hour  ago.  He  told  me 
to  tell  you  he'd  be  in  to  supper  by  nine  o'clock.  They  don't 
start  till  late." 

"  Have  you  been  in  the  house  all  day  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  that's  another  thing  I  don't  like.  I'm  left  at 
home  here  to  open  the  door  and  keep  things  in  order,  while 
you  are  out  all  day." 

"  Don't  I  always  share  fairly  with  you,  Betsey  ?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  you  do  ;  but  I  don't  care  so  much  about 
that;  I'm -tired,  Sal,  of  staying  shut  up  in  this  house  all 
day  and  all  night,  too,  I  hate  the  sight  of  everything  in  it. 
I'm  weary,  weary  of  this  sort  of  life,  and  you'll  be  weary  of 
it,  too,  when  you  get  to  my  age." 

"  You  don't  look  well,  Betsey.  Is  there  anything  the 
matter  with  you  ?" 

"  No,  Sal,  I'm  only  heartsick." 

Sal,  who  had  now  finished  dressing,  and  whose  metamor- 
phosis from  a  beggar-girl  into  a  pretty  young  woman  was 
complete,  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  saw  that  tears  were 
running  swiftly  down  her  cheeks.  She  went  to  her  and  put 
one  arm  around  her  neck  and  drew  her  head  to  her  breast. 
Neither  of  them  spoke  for  several  minutes,  the  silence  only 
being  broken  by  Betsey's  sobs.  How  vain  would  be  the  at- 
tempt to  probe  to  the  bottom  the  weariness,  the  despond- 


148  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

ency,  the  despair  which  filled  the  heart  of  this  poor,  erring 
girl,  who  had  at  last  been  brought  to  feel  the  loneliness  of 
her  lot,  the  bitterness  of  disappointed  hopes,  and  perhaps 
even  the  remorse  dne  to  a  life  spent  in  sin  and  shame  !  Only 
heartsick  !  We  all  know  what  this  means  ;  but  few  of  us, 
perhaps,  have  felt  the  pangs  of  the  disease  as  this  girl  felt 
them,  as  she  wept  upon  the  breast  of  the  only  one  to  whom 
she  could  pour  out  her  grief  with  any  hope  of  receiving  the 
sympathy  for  which  she  longed.  Only  heartsick  !  The  con- 
sequence of  a  life  misspent,  the  apprehension  of  guilt,  the 
loss  of  self-respect,  the  perception  of  a  joyless  future, — 
these  are  the  things  which  make  the  heart  sick  ;  which  force 
the  mind  to  look  in  upon  itself  and  view  with  horror  the 
ghastly  ruins  of  its  own  decay. 

"  I've  always  liked  you,  Betsey,"  said  Sal,  her  own  tears 
beginning  to  flow.  "  You've  always  been  kind  to  me,  and 
sometimes,  I  know,  I've  worried  you.  But  I  won't  do  it 
any  more,  and  if  you'll  tell  me  what  I  can  do  now  I'll  do  it." 

"I  want  to  get  away  from  here,  I'm  worn  out  with  this 
life.  I  loved  Jack,  but  he  doesn't  care  for  me  any  longer. 
Why  should  he?  I'm  not  good  looking  now;  I'm  very 
miserable,  and  I've  tried  liquor  and  laudanum,  but  they  won't 
do.  I  thought,  last  night,  I  would  just  take  a  big  dose  of 
laudanum  and  be  done  with  it.  I  think  I  will,  for  there's 
nothing  to  keep  me  in  this  world." 

"  No,  no,  Betsey,"  said  Sal ;  "you  must  not  talk  in  that 
way.  I've  been  thinking  this  afternoon,  and  maybe  I'll  see 
my  way  clear  to  help  you  and  myself,  too.  Don't  be  cast 
down,  and  don't  cry  any  more.  I'll  be  your  friend  and 
you'll  be  mine.  I  want  you  to  help  me  now,  Betsey,  by 
telling  me  just  what  you  think  about  what  I  am  going  to 
say. 

"Suppose,"  continued  Sal,  "you  were  out  prospecting, 
and  you  came  across  a  young  lady  as  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
and  you  asked  her  for  a  little  ready,  and  told  your  chant; 
and  suppose,  when  she  gave  you  money,  you  were  to  draw 
her  pocket-book,  and  then  feel  sorry  about  it ;  and  then 
suppose  you  watched  for  her,  and  when  you  found  her  you 
gave  her  back  all  her  chink,  and  then  instead  of  abusing  you 
and  calling  you  a  thief,  or  crying  out  for  the  police  and  hav- 
ing you  nabbed,  she  talked  to  you  kindly  and  said  you  didn't 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  149 

look  like  a  bad  girl,  and  she'd  like  to  help  you,  and  who 
was  not  ashamed  to  be  seen  walking  with  you,  if  she  was 
dressed  finely  and  you  looked  like  a  beggar,  andiwho  wanted 
to  come  to  your  house,  and  do  anything  she  could  to  make 
you  better,  and  who  was  as  beautiful  and  as  gentle,  mind, 
Betsey,  as  any  angel  ever  was, — suppose  all  this, — what 
would  you  do  for  her  in  return  ?" 

"  I  would  do  all  I  could  to  serve  her  in  any  way.  I  don't 
suppose  I  would  ever  have  the  chance  though." 

"  Would  you  let  her  house  be  cracked  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  could  help  it,  Sal." 

"Well,  Betsey,  I  don't  intend  to  allow  it  either.  What 
I've  told  you  is  all  as  true  as  Gospel,  and  it's  her  house 
that's  to  be  cracked  to-night.  I  must  stop  it  somehow,  and 
I  can't  think  of  any  other  way  than  to  go  and  tell  her  what's 
going  on.  And  if  you'll  just  keep -them  from  suspecting 
me  I'll  run  round  there  while  they're  at  supper." 

"  I'll  do  it,  Sal.  She  must  be  very  good  and  beautiful  to 
take  your  fancy  so.  I'll  stay  here  with  the  boys  while  you 
go  and  tell.  They  would  kill  us  though  if  they  find  us  out, 
and  I  would  not  like  to  get  them  into  any  trouble." 

"  I  don't  think  there'll  be  any  danger  of  that,  but  if  there 
should  be,  I  can't  help  it.  I'm  not  going  to  have  her  house 
cracked." 

"  Very  well,  Sal.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  here, 
and  I  wish  you  would  go,  too.  You  are  younger  than  I 
am  by  five  years  at  least,  and  you  could  make  your  living 
without  any  trouble,  for  you've  got  more  sense  than  I  have. 
Perhaps  the  young  lady  will  put  us  both  in  the  way  of  doing 
something,  and  I  wish  you  would  ask  her.  If  I  can't  do 
better,  I  can  kill  myself,  and  I'll  do  it  too,  if  the  worst  comes 
to  the  worst.  And  now  I'll  go  up  stairs  and  dress,  but  I 
don't  feel  much  like  it,  except  that  I  think  I  ought  to  look 
nice  when  Jack  comes  in." 

"  Betsey,"  said  Sal,  taking  her  companion's  hand,  "  I 
never  knew  what  a  good  heart  you  had  till  to-night.  Don't 
you  feel  glum  any  more,  and  you'll  be  all  right  before  very 
long.  .  You're  a  good  deal  better  than  Jack  Duggan,  and 
you  need  not  mind  what  he  does.  I  never  felt  ashamed  of 
myself  till  to-day,  and  then  when  I  saw  her  sweet  face,  and 
heard  her  kind  words,  I  thought  to  myself  I  would  be  will- 

14 


150  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

ing  to  die  to  be  like  her.  I  know  that's  impossible,  Betsey. 
I  know  that  while  ray  life  has  been  a  bad  one,  hers  has  been 
like  an  angel's.  She  is  just  about  my  age,  too.  Perhaps, 
Betsey,  she'll  tell  us  what  we  can  do  when  we  leave  here.  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  too,  for  I  wouldn't  like  to  live 
with  Jim  after  blabbing  on  him." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN   WHICH   SOME    PLANS    ARE    FORMED    AND    OTHERS    ARE    BROUGHT   TO 
AN    END. 

AFTER  Betsey  had  gone  to  her  own  room,  Sal  busied  her- 
self in  getting  supper  ready  for  Jim  Terry  and  his  friends 
when  they  should  come  in  at  nine  o'clock.  Out  of  a  cup- 
board she  took  a  cloth,  some  plates,  cups,  and  knives  and 
forks,  which  she  proceeded  to  arrange  on  a  large  table  which 
stood  against  the  wall.  On  a  small  gas-stove  she  next 
began  to  make  some  coffee.  A  box  of  sardines,  a  jar  of 
pickles,  bread  and  butter,  made  up  the  rest  of  the  meal.  It 
did  not  take  long  to  complete  these  preparations ;  and  be- 
fore the  coffee  was  quite  made,  Jim  Terry  and  his  companions 
entered  the  room. 

"How  are  you,  my  gal?"  said  he, holding  out  his  hand  in 
great  good  humor  to  Sal.  "What  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to 
have  a  lady-bird  like  you  to  see  after  a  fellow's  grub !  Give 
ns  a  kiss,  you  little  baggage." 

With  these  words,  Jim  Terry  took  Sal's  face  between  his 
big  hands  and  kissed  it. 

"  There,  Jim,  let  me  go  now  till  I  get  this  coffee  made. 
You  and  Jack  and  Bill  sit  down  at  the  table  and  help  your- 
selves. I'll  soon  be  ready.  Won't  you  call  Betsey,  Jack  ? 
She's  up  stairs  in  her  room." 

Jack  Duggan,  who  was  the  gentleman  in  whose  company 
Sal  was  found  by  Severne  when  he  walked  behind  her  up 
the  Fifth  Avenue  six  months  since,  did  not  appear  to  relish 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  151 

this  proposition.  He  had  thrown  himself  on  a  lounge,  and 
had  assumed  a  position  so  comfortable  that  he  was  loth  to 
change  it,  even  for  the  sake  of  having  the  pleasure  of  Bet- 
sey's society. 

"  I  guess  she  knows  we  are  all  here  without  my  going  up 
stairs  after  her,"  he  said.  "And  if  she  doesn't,  what's  the 
odds  ?  I  don't  see  as  her  presence  is  necessary  to  the  success 
of  this  princely  entertainment." 

"  Then  I'll  call  her  myself,"  said  Sal,  and  immediately 
left  the  room  for  this  purpose. 

"I  don't  think  you  treat  Betsey  exactly  right,  Jack, "said 
Jim  Terry.  "  She's  a  good  girl,  and  thinks  a  good  deal  of 
you." 

"I  know  she's  a  good  girl,  Jim,  but  she's  got  to  be  such 
a  blasted  melancholy  one  that  she  gives  me  the  blues  when- 
ever I  come  near  her.  If  she'd  only  be  a  little  lively,  she 
and  me  would  get  along  first  rate.  I  really  don't  know 
what's  got  into  Betsey  these  last  two  or  three  months.  She 
says  I  don't  care  for  her.  She  wants  me  to  talk  to  her  and 
keep  with  her  all  the  time,  which  is  very  unreasonable,  to 
say  the  least." 

"Some  women  is  very  worrying,"  said  Bill,  who,  had 
hitherto  been  silently  watching  the  steaming  coffee.  "  I 
once  knew  a  gal  who  never  would  let  her  cove  have  his 
breakfast  till  he  got  down  on  his  knees  and  said  his  prayers. 
They  do  take  the  strangest  notions  sometimes.  Now  there's 
a  sister  of  mine  as  went  to  California  when  the  gold  fever 
broke  out.  She  might  have  married  a  white  man  worth  his 
weight  in  nuggets,  but  what  do  you  think  she  did  ?  Why, 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  Bill  Smithers,  she  married  a  Chinese 
nigger  named  Hang  Foo.  Now  if  all  women  was  like  your 
Sal,  Jim,  things  would  be  different.  She's  the  girl  for  my 
money." 

"  Yes,  and  for  mine  too,"  said  Jim,  exultingly.  "  I  can 
just  leave  her  to  look  after  things  alone,  and  she  does  it 
without  the  need  of  me  watching  her  all  the  time.  She 
makes  her  own  living,  too,  which  is  a  great  thing  for  a 
woman  to  do  in  these  times,  when  men  are  pushed  hard  to 
get  enough  together  to  make  both  ends  meet.  Here  she 
comes,  and  Betsey,  too,"  he  continued,  as  the  two  women 
entered  the  room.  "  Come  in,  Betsey,  don't  be  bashful ; 


152  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

take  a  seat  here  alongside  of  me.  Sal  won't  be  jealous, 
will  you,  Sal  ?" 

Sal  expressed  her  concurrence,  but  Betsey  passed  round 
to  the  other  side  of  the  table  and  sat  down  next  to  Jack, 
who,  however,  took  no  notice  of  her  except  to  ask  her  to 
hand  him  the  pickles. 

"Now,  boys  and  gals,"  said  Jim  Terry,  after  the  party 
had  arranged  themselves  to  their  satisfaction,  "  let's  go  to 
business  at  once.  This  is  a  big  thing  that  we've  got  on 
hand  to-night.  There's  lots  of  hard  cole,  and  soft,  too,  with 
a  chest  full  of  white  wool.  I've  been  round  there  all  day, 
more  or  less,  and  I  think  I  know  how  the  land  lies.  There's 
a  big  garden  behind  the  house  with  three  doors  opening 
into  it.  Besides,  there's  seven  or  eight  windows  on  that 
side,  by  which  we  can  get  in  or  out.  My  plan  is  to  scale 
the  wall  of  the  garden  and  get  in  by  one  of  the  windows, 
which  are  almost  on  a  level  with  the  ground.  I  am  pretty 
sure  we  can  do  this  without  waking  the  old  codger  or  any 
of  his  crew.  If  they  should  get  troublesome,  however,  we 
have  a  way  to  hush  them,  and  we'll  use  it.  There  are  two 
men  in  the  house,  the  old  one  and  another,  and  half  a  dozen 
women,  more  or  less,  and  there  are  two  men  sleeping  over 
the  stable  and  coach-house.  We  needn't  be  afraid  of  them 
if  we  look  sharp.  The  best  thing  will  be  for  Jack  and  me 
to  go  in  and  gather  up  the  plunder  while  Bill  stays  around 
outside  and  watches.  What  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

"Well,  I've  got  this  to  say,  Jim,"  said  Jack  Duggan. 
"  You  know  there's  a  wing  to  the  hpuse  on  the  north  end, 
and  that  this  wing  makes  a  part  of  the  garden-wall  on  that 
side.  Now,  I've  been  watching  that  house  night  and  day, 
and  I've  found  out  that  there's  a  light  in  that  wing  till  two 
or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  sometimes  later.  It 
strikes  me  that  our  best  plan  would  be  to  get  into  that  wing, 
nab  the  coves  that  are  in  there  and  stop  their  gab,  while  we 
do  our  work  at  our  ease.  I  listened  at  the  window  last 
night,  and  I'm  pretty  sure  old  hunks  and  his  man  were  in 
there.  As  to  the  women,  we  need  not  go  near  them.  There's 
enough  for  us  in  the  house  without  our  taking  their  traps. 
Bill  can  stay  around  outside,  as  Jim  says,  to  look  out  for 
the  Philistines,  and  Sal  and  Betsey  will  be  all  ready  to  help 
us  plant  the  lurries  when  we  get  home  besides  giving  us 
bene  prog.  We'll  be  awful  peckish,  I  guess." 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  153 

"You're  always  thinking  of  your  stomach,  Jack,"  said 
Bill.  "  I'd  rather  have  something  nice  to  swill  about  four 
o'clock  than  all  the  prog  in  New  York.  I  rather  guess  your 
plan  is  the  best,  though.  What  do  you  say,  Jim  ?  I  ain't 
particular  myself.  I'm  mighty  good  at  watching  for  the 
crushers,  who  ain't  likely  to  be  about,  anyhow." 

"  I  don't  know,  when  I  come  to  think  about  it,"  replied 
Jim,  "  but  that  Jack's  plan  is  the  best;  so  we'll  consider  the 
thing  fixed.  There  are  two  rooms  in  that  wing,  I  think, 
and  a  passage  leading  from  it  to  the  main  building.  There's 
a  window  in  this  passage  which  opens  toward  the  garden, 
and  it's  only  closed  by  inside  shutters,  which  can  easily  be 
opened.  We'll  get  in  by  this  window  and  fix  the  two  old 
codgers  before  they  know  what's  up,  if  they're  in  the  room. 
If  not,  we'll  have  things  all  our  own  way.  What  do  you 
think  about  it,  Sal  ?  Bless  my  soul !  the  gals  hain't  opened 
their  mouths,  except  to  fill  them  with  prog,  since  they  came 
into  the  room !  Come,  Sal,  speak  up,  you  always  give  good 
advice,  because  you've  got  more  sense  than  most  men,  and 
there  never  was  a  woman  born — present  company  excepted, 
Betsey — who  could  come  up  to  you." 

Thus  addressed,  Sal,  who  had  hitherto  remained  silent, 
though  she  had  been  attentively  listening  to  every  word  that 
had  been  uttered,  laid  her  knife  and  fork  down  in  her  plate, 
and  throwing  herself  back  in  her  chair,  gave  expression  to 
some  of  her  thoughts. 

"  You  know,  Jim,  I  never  was  in  favor  of  this  sort  of 
work,  though  I've  always  done  my  best  for  you  when  you 
wanted  my  services,  and  I  don't  like  this  lay  any  better  than 
the  others.  It's  dangerous  business ;  and  there  are  plenty 
of  crushers  about  in  that  part  of  the  town,  too.  But  I  know 
you  ain't  going  to  give  it  up  on  my  account,  and  I  haven't 
much  time  to  talk  it  over  with  you,  because,  you  see,  I've 
got  a  little  job  of  my  own  on  hand  to-night,  and  I  must  be 
going  pretty  soon.  I  think  I've  got  a  chance  to  make  a 
hundred  at  least." 

"  What  is  it,  Sal  ?"  said  Jim,  smiling  with  great  glee  at 
the  talent  of  his  female  friend. 

"Never  yon  mind,  Jim,  just  now;  you'll  find  out  before 
to-morrow  morning.  I'll  be  home  in  time  to  get  things 

14* 


154  ROBERT   SB  VERNE. 

ready  for  you  when  you  get  back,  and  Betsey  will  stay  here 
and  look  after  matters, — won't  you,  Betsey  ?" 

"Yes,  Sal,  I'll  do  my  best  till  you  return." 

"  Then  good  night,  Jim,"  said  Sal.  "  Take  care  of  your- 
self. I'm  in  a  hurry,  for  I  wouldn't  like  to  miss  the  good 
chance  I've  got." 

"  Good  luck  to  you,  Sal  1  never  you  fear  for  me.  I'll 
make  you  rich  with  this  night's  work,  and  then  we'll  go  off 
and  live  quietly  somewhere." 

The  girl  laughed  aloud  at  this  promise.  "  That's  what 
you  always  say,  Jim,  but  you've^  never  done  it  yet,"  she  said, 
putting  on  her  bonnet.  "  Your  intentions  are  good,  Jim,  I 
don't  deny  that,  but  you  ain't  strong  on  the  virtuous  lay. 
Good-by,"  and  making  a  sign  to  Betsey  to  follow  her,  she 
left  the  room. 

Betsey  came  into  the  hall  and  accompanied  her  down 
stairs. 

"  Betsey,"  said  Sal,  earnestly,  when  they  had  got  beyond 
the  hearing  of  the  men  above,  "  I'm  not  coming  back  again. 
I  could  not  do  it.  I  could  not  look  Jim  in  the  face  after 
what  I'm  going  to  do.  I  don't  know  how  it  will  end,  but  I 
ain't  afraid.  Meet  me  to-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock,  at  the 
corner  of  Wooster  and  Bleecker  Streets.  Then  I'll  tell  you 
all.  Don't  get  low-spirited,  Betsey,"  continued  Sal,  putting 
her  arm  around  her  companion's  neck,  and  kissing  her. 
"  You  are  a  good  girl,  and  I'll  stand  by  you  as  long  as  I 
live.  I've  no  time  to  lose ;  good- by  !"  And  with  these  words, 
Sal  darted  out  of  the  door.  Betsey  looked  after  her  anx- 
iously for  a  few  moments,  and  then,  with  a  sigh,  returned  to 
the  room  in  which  she  had  left  the  burglars. 

"Betsey,"  said  Jack,  as  she  entered  the  room,  "why don't 
you  pattern  after  Sal,  instead  of  moping  about  as  if  you 
had  lost  all  your  friends,  and  making  a  man  feel  just, like 
you?  I'd  like  to  know  what's  the  use  of  women  if  they 
don't  keep  in  good  spirits,  and  help  to  cheer  a  fellow  up. 
Damn  you  !"  he  continued,  pounding  his  fist  upon  the  table, 
"I've  stood  it  long  enough,  and  I'm  going  to  stop  it.  Sit 
down  here  and  laugh." 

Betsey  took  the  seat  pointed  out  to  her,  and  tried  to 
smile.  The  attempt,  however,  was  unsuccessful,  and  far 
from  being  satisfactory  to  her  lord  and  master. 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  155 

"  It  won't  do,"  he  cried,  with  a  tremendous  oath.  "  I 
want  a  good,  hearty  laugh." 

"  I  can't  laugh,  Jack  ;  I  don't  feel  like  it,"  said  the  woman, 
quietly. 

"  But  I  say  you  shall  laugh.  Do  you  think  I'm  going 
to  be  bullied  by  such  a  sickly  drab  as  you  ?" 

"  Let  her  alone,  Jack,"  said  Jim  Terry.  "  She's  a  good 
enough  gal  in  her  way.  She  ain't  lively  much,  but  she  can't 
help  that.  We  can't  make  oar  own  dispositions,  so  she 
ain't  to  blame  if  she's  melancholy  and  down  in  the  mouth 
more  than  is  agreeable.  Come  here,  Betsey,  and  take  a 
drink  ;  it  will  do  you  good." 

"  She's  a  damned  fool,  that's  what  she  is !"  said  Jack 
Duggan,  sullenly.  "  But  if  she  won't  laugh  of  her  own  free 
will,  I'll  give  her  something  that  will  make  her  grin  for  a 
week,  and  I  won't  be  balked  at  it  either.  Here,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  poured  out  a  glass  half  full  of  whisky,  "drink 
this  and  it  will  make  you  lively  enough." 

Betsey  looked  imploringly  at  Jim,  who  laughed  kindly,  as 
he  said  : 

"  Drink  it,  Betsey,  it  will  brighten  up  your  heart.  Come, 
here's  your  good  health." 

With  these  words  he  emptied  his  own  glass,  and  Betsey, 
finding  there  was  no  escape,  drank  hers  also. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jack;  "  so  far  so  good.  Now  you've 
got  to  drink  my  health  in  a  bumper.  Hand  me  that  nipper- 
kin." 

Betsey  passed  the  tumbler  to  him,  and  he  filled  it  almost 
to  the  brim  with  the  fiery  liquor. 

"  Now  down  with  it  straight,"  be  resumed,  as  he  put  the 
glass  on  the  table  before  her. 

"  I  don't  want  any  more  now,  Jack,"  said  the  girl ;  "I'll, 
drink  it  after  awhile." 

"No," exclaimed  the  man,  with  an  oath,  "you  shall  drink 
it  now,  or  I'll  pour  it  down  your  cursed  throat." 

"  Oh,  let  her  alone,  Jack  1"  said  Jim.     "  Let  her  alone.  _ 
What's  the  use  of  deviling  her  any  more  ?" 

"  Shut  up,  Jim  Terry,  and  mind  your  own  business.  She's 
my  gal,  and  I'll  do  what  I  please  with  her." 

"  80  you  may,  Jack ;  I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  any 
of  your  affairs;  but  this  is  my  room,  I  believe,  and,  damme 


156  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

if  the  girl  don't  want  to  drink  her  liquor,  you  shan't  force 
her  to  do  it  here." 

Without  appearing  to  notice  Jim's  remark,  Jack  took  the 
tumbler  from  the  table  and  held  it  to  Betsey's  lips. 

"  Drink  it,  I  say  1"  be  roared  out,  with  a  terrible  oath. 

"No,  Jack,  I* won't  drink  it,"  she  said,  firmly  but  quietly. 

"Then  I'll  make  you, "exclaimed  the  man,  rising  from  his 
chair  and  seizing  her  by  the  throat  with  one  hand,  while  he 
held  the  tumbler  of  whisky  in  the  other.  "  Open  your 
mouth,  you  damned  slut,  or  I'll  strangle  you  !" 

"  Help  me,  Jim  ;  he'll  murder  me  1"  gasped  Betsey,  while 
the  ruffian's  fingers  tightened  around  her  throat. 

Jim  jumped  up  from  his  seat  even  before  Betsey's  appeal 
was  uttered,  and  seizing  Duggan  by  the  collar  of  his  coat 
with  one  hand,  he  dealt  him  a  tremendous  blow  on  the  side 
of  the  head  with  the  closed  fist  of  the  other.  The  man's 
grasp  relaxed,  and,  partly  stunned  by  the  concussion,  he 
staggered  up  against  the  wall,  a  distance  of  several  feet, 
where,  panting  with  rage,  he  stood,  apparently  gathering  his 
forces  to  return  the  onslaught. 

"I'll  teach  you,  Jack  Duggan, "said  Jim,  with  the  utmost 
coolness;  "I'll  teach  you  to  kick  up  a  rumpus  in  my  room 
when  I've  warned  you  not  to  do  it.  This  is  not  the  first 
time  I've  had  to  jerk  you  up  with  a  round  turn,  and  you 
ought  to  know  that  I  don't  speak  twice.  Now  sit  down, 
and  behave  yourself,  for,  so  help  me  God  !  if  you  dare  to 
lay  the  weight  of  your  finger  on  this  girl  again,  I'll  let  a 
little  blood  out  of  your  carcass." 

Jack  stood  glaring  savagely  at  Jim  Terry  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then,  seeing  that  the  latter  was  determined  to  be 
as  good  as  his  word,  he  sullenly  sat  down. 
.  "I  was  only  joking  with  her,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  I  only 
wanted  to  put  a  little  life  into  her,  instead  of  the  down-in- 
the-mouth  way  she's  got  into." 

"No,  you  weren't  joking  a  bit;  so  that's  a  lie.  You're 
too  hard  on  the  gal,  Jack.  It's  not  decent  nor  kind.  But 
it's  all  over  now,  so  we  won't  say  anything  more  about  it." 

Betsey  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  altercation,  tears 
were  starting  into  her  eyes,  when  she  took  up  the  tumbler 
from  the  floor,  filled  it  again  with  whisky,  and  going  over 
to  where  Jack  sat  brooding  over  his  defeat,  she  placed  her- 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  157 

self  on  his  knee,  and  putting  one  arm  around  his  neck, 
said  : 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Jack.     I'll  drink  it  if  you  want  me  to." 

"I  don't  care  whether  you  drink  it  or  not,"  growled 
Jack.  "I  wish  you  would  go  away  from  me." 

"  Won't  you  make  up  with  me,  Jack  ?"  continued  the 
girl. 

"No  ;  I  don't  want  anything  more  to  do  with  you  " 

"  You  oughtn't  to  talk  that  way  to  me,  Jack.  I've  al- 
ways been  true  to  you.  I've  done  you  a  great  many  favors, 
and  perhaps  I  can  do  you  more  if  you'd  only  let  me,  and*  be 
kind  to  me.  There's  no  one  I  care  for  but  you,  Jack." 

"  It's  more  than  I  do  for  you,  anyhow,  and  I  don't  ask 
any  favors  of  you.  You  can  go  your  way,  and  I'll  go 
mine.  If  you  prefer  Jim  Terry  to  me,  I've  no  objections." 

"  But  I  don't.  I  care  for  nobody  but  you.  Oh,  Jack," 
she  continued,  in  a  whisper,  hiding  her  face  on  his  shoulder, 
"if  you  only  knew  how  miserable  I  am,  I'm  sure  you'd  have 
pity  on  me  !" 

"  Then  don't  tell  me,  for  I  don't  want  to  know  anything 
about  your  misery,  or  to  have  any  pity  on  you,  either.  It's 
no  use,  Betsey,"  he  continued,  as  the  girl  got  up  from  his 
knee,  and  stood  before  him,  looking  the  picture  of  despair. 
"  It's  no  use  trying  to  come  that  game  over  me  any  more. 
It's  played  out  with  me.  You'll  have  to  try  it  on  with  a 
fellow  that's  greener  .than  I  am." 

"  Is  that  so,  Jack  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is." 

The  girl  made  no  further  remark,  but  putting  the  whisky 
on  #ie  table,  left  the  room. 

The  bad  feeling  which  had  arisen  between  Jim  Terry  and 
his  subordinate  was  not  of  long  duration.  Jim's  strength  of 
character  was  such  that  he  had  very  little  difficulty  in  caus- 
ing his  authority  to  be  respected  by  all  the  members  of 
the  gang,  and  though  outbreaks  would  occasionally  take 
place,  they  had  never,  thus  far,  amounted  to  anything  serious. 
Bill  offered  his  services  as  a  peace-maker,  and  thus  the  breach 
was  healed  sooner  than  would  otherwise  have  been  the  case. 
After  having  further  discussed  their  plans,  and  arranged  all 
the  necessary  details  of  the  expedition,  the  three  men,  as 
the  clock  in  St.  John's  Church  struck  two,  sallied  forth  on 


158  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

their  iniquitous  errand,  Jim  Terry  walking  several  paces  in 
front,  Bill  beiug  next,  with  the  tools,  and  Jack  bringing  up 
the  rear. 

And  Betsey — Betsey,  upon  leaving  the  apartment,  went  to 
her  own  room,  and  throwing  herself  on  her  bed,  cried  the 
bitterest  tears  she  had  shed  for  many  a  day.  At  last  she 
knew  for  a  certainty  that  Jack  no  longer  cared  for  her,  and 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  thought  almost  drove  her  mad. 
She  lay  upon  the  bed,  weeping  violently  for  several  minutes, 
and  then  getting  up  she  opened  a  trunk  and  took  from  it  a 
photograph  of  an  old  man,  which  she  pressed  repeatedly  to 
her  lips,  looking  at  it  in  the  intervals  as  though  her  whole 
soul  were  in  her  eyes. 

"My  poor,  poor  old  father!"  she  sobbed;  "what  would 
you  think  if  you  were  alive,  and  knew  of  the  wretched  life 
your  little  Bess,  as  you  used  to  call  her,  has  been  leading 
these  ten  years  past  ?  Oh,  my  God  !"  she  continued,  wildly, 
"is  there  no  mercy  for  me  ?  Have  pity  on  me  !"  she  cried, 
as  she  dropped  on  her  knees.  "He  would  not ;  I  asked  his 
pardon,  but  he  would  not  give  it.  Oh,  my  Saviour,  will 
you  give  me  yours  for  what  I  have  done  through  my  sinful 
life,  and  for  what  I  am  going  to  do  now  ?" 

She  sat  upon  the  floor,  her  hands  clasped  around  her 
knees,  and  her  head  bent  upon  her  breast.  Suddenly  she 
started  to  her  feet,  took  a  bottle  of  laudanum  from  the  man- 
tle-piece, #nd  putting  it  to  her  lips,  drained  it  to  the  dregs. 
Then  she  lay  down  upon  the  bed,  and  closed  her  eyes  as  if 
wishing  to  go  to  sleep.  Hfer  thoughts  wandered  over  events 
in  her  life  which  had  not  for  many  years  been  brought  to 
her  mind.  She  saw,  as  if  in  a  vision,  a  little  white  cottage, 
surrounded  by  trees,  and  before  which  a  brook  murmured 
melodiously  as  it  flowed  on  to  the  sea.  An  old  man  sat  at 
the  door  reading,  and  playing  by  turns  with  a  little  girl  who 
was  building  houses  with  blocks  of  wood,  and  peopling 
the;n  with  tiny  paper  dolls.  Finally,  the  old  man,  unable  to 
divide  his  attention  longer,  laid  aside  his  book,  and  gave  his 
whole  time  to  the  child.  He  took  her  on  his  lap  and  kissed 
her,  and  told  her  such  wonderful  stories  of  fairies  and  drag- 
ons and  ogres,  that  she  either  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed 
with  childish  glee,  or  else  opened  wide  her  eyes  with  half 
fear,  half  amazement,  at  the  marvelous  pictures  presented 
to  her  mind. 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  159 

And  then  she  saw,  but  less  clearly  than  before,  another 
scene.  It  was  in  a  room,  from  which  the  full  light  of  day 
was  excluded.  An  old  man,  the  same  she  had  beheld  by 
the  cottage  door,  lay  upon  a  bed  gasping  for  breath,  and 
apparently  unconscious  of  what  was  passing  around  him,  for 
his  eyes  were  staring  vacantly  at  the  ceiling,  and  he  took  no 
notice  of  the  young  girl  who  was  sobbing  on  his  breast.  A 
clergyman  was  kneeling  by  his  side,  praying  that  God 
would  receive  the  soul  of  him  who  was  about  to  leave  this 
world  forever,  and  would  look  with  pity  upon  her  whose 
only  earthly  friend  would  soon  be  numbered  with  the  dead. 
Gradually  the  scene  faded  from  her  sight;  she  tried  to  re- 
call it,  but  in  vain :  "  I  am  sure  he  blessed  me  before  he 
died,"  she  said,  softly.  "  What  did  he  say  ?  How  did  he 
look  ?  I  cannot  bring  it  back.  How  strangely  I  feel  1 
How  my  head  throbs,  and  how  dark  everything  looks  !" 

She  sat  up  in  the  bed,  and  pushed  back  the  hair  from  her 
face.  Her  lips  were  already  of  a  purple  hue,  and  her  coun- 
tenance was  dark  with  the  black  blood  which  surged  in  slug- 
gish torrents  through  her  swollen  veins.  Her  thoughts 
wandered,  and  she  could  no  longer  weave  them  into  a  con- 
nected train. 

"  You  loved  me  once,  Jack ;  but, — yes,  yes,  Sal,  you  are 
kind — no  angel  for  me. — Why  did  you  curse  me  so  ? — 
Blacker  !  blacker  ! — How  long  will  this  last  ? — Yes,  I  will 
go. — It  was  different  once — long,  long  ago  ! — How  could 
you,  Jack  ?  I  have  lost  all  for  you  !  Oh,  my  God  !  what 
have  I  done  ?  Am  I  mad  ?  No,  no. — Then  you  have 
come  ?  I  thought  you  would. — I  will  drink  it,  Jack. — 
Don't  strike  him,  Jim. — Sal,  will  you  never  come  back  ? — 
So  beautiful,  Sal !  so  young  ! — Bless  me,  father, — kiss  your 
little  Bess  !" 

She  fell  back  on  the  pillow,  and  a  slight  convulsion  passed 
through  her  limbs.  Her  weary  eyelids  closed,  never  again 
to  be  lifted  till  the  trump  of  God  should  raise  her  body  from 
the  dust ;  her  breath  came  slower  and  slower,  and  her  heart 
scarcely  stirred  the  poisoned  blood  which  stagnated  in  the 
vessels  where  once,  full  of  health,  it  had  bounded  swiftly 
with  the  strength  and  hopes  of  youth.  Death  was  very 
near,  and  with  rapid  strides  he  came  to  clutch  his  victim. 
Already  his  hard  and  merciless  hand  bears  heavily  on  her 


100  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

heart.  But  not  yet,  oh,  King  of  Terrors  !  not  yet  1  Her 
lips  move,  and  though  it  is  but  a  feeble  whisper  that  passes 
through  them,  it  is  wafted  to  the  recording  angel's  ears,  and 
ere  he  writes  the  last  line  of  her  earthly  record,  and  closes 
her  book  of  life  forever,  he  hears  the  words  :  "  Father,  par- 
don, and  receive  my  sinful  soul,"  and  knows  that  one  more 
weak  and  helpless  spirit  has  obtained  the  seal  of  forgiveness, 
and  rests  upon  the  bosom  of  Him  who  made  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN    WHICH    THE    UNCERTAINTY    OF    HUMAN    EXPECTATIONS    IS    THOR- 
OUGHLY   DEMONSTRATED    IN    MORE    THAN    ONE    INSTANCE. 

SAL  hurried  rapidly  toward  John  Holmes's  house.  The 
sky  was  overcast  with  thick,  black  clouds,  the  sharp  outlines 
of  which  were  occasionally  brought  into  view  by  flashes  of 
lightning,  which  for  an  instant  lit  up  the  vault  of  heaven, 
and  then  left  all  as  dark  as  before.  The  low  shops  of  that 
section  of  the  city  through  which  she  passed  wei'e  all  closed 
except  those  in  which  liquor  and  other  refreshments  were 
sold.  The  night  was  very  warm ;  and  the  doors  of  these 
were  open.  Men  and  women  stood  around  the  counters, 
drinking,  laughing,  singing,  and  cursing,  without  fear  of  in- 
terruption from  the  quiet  policemen  who  patroled  the  neigh- 
borhood, so  long  as  they  kept  within  the  rather  extended 
limits  of  propriety  fixed  by  these  guardians  of  the  peace. 
Occasionally  half-drunken  men  would  call  out  to  her  from 
their  dens,  but  she  hastened  on,  regardless  of  their  invita- 
tions to  come  in  and  eat  or  drink  with  them. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  she  was  fearful  the  house  might 
be  closed  and  all  have  gone  to  bed  before  she  reached  it. 
She  had  not  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do  in  that  contin- 
gency, preferring  to  let  her  future  plans  be  dictated  by  the 
occasion  as  it  presented  itself.  To  save  the  property,  and 
perhaps  the  life  of  her  who  had  become  so  dear  to  her,  was 
her  first  object ;  to  avoid  bringing  Jim  and  his  companions 


ROBERT   SE  VERNE.  161 

into  danger  was  her  second.  She  was  resolved  to  secure  the 
first  at  all  hazards,  and  she  hoped  to  provide  for  the  other 
also.  Of  this,  however,  she  was  doubtful,  and  the  uncer- 
tainty gave  her  a  good  deal  of  anxiety.  Jim  had  always 
treated  her  with  kindness;  in  fact,  as  the  reader  has  already 
had  an  opportunity  of  discovering,  he  was  possessed  of  a 
good-hearted  disposition  in  some  things  at  least.  He  had 
a  high  respect  for  Sal's  abilities,  and  had  conceived  a  sin- 
cere affection  for  the  girl,  which  she  returned  in  no  small 
degree.  Sal  felt  badly  at  the  idea  of  betraying  his  confi- 
dence, and  several  times  lessened  her  speed,  as  though  she 
thought  of  turning  back.  But  she  did  not.  She  kept  on 
in  her  course,  firm  in  her  determination  of  doing  an  act 
which  would  save  her  ideal  from  injury. 

As  she  reached  a  more  respectable  part  of  the  city  she 
was  in  less  danger  of  molestation.  The  sky  was  still  black, 
and  rain  had  commenced  to  fall  in  large,  pattering  drops, 
but  the  lamps  were  more  numerous,  and  the  shops  were, 
many  of  them,  still  open,  so  that  she  saw  her  way  more 
clearly  than  at  first.  Policemen  looked  at  her  suspiciously, 
and  appeared  to  deliberate  whether  or  not  it  would  be  ad- 
visable to  inquire  into  her  intentions,  but  they  made  no  at- 
tempt to  stop  her;  and  so  at  last  she  arrived  in  front  of 
John  Holmes's  house.  Just  as  she  put  her  foot  on  the  lowest 
step  a  neighboring  clock  struck  eleven.  She  had  therefore 
fully  three  hours  to  spare. 

Before  she  ascended  to  the  door  she  took  a  rapid  survey 
of  the  premises.  A  light  was  burning  in  the  hall,  and  she 
could  look  into  the  open  windows  and  see  that  the  inmates 
had  not  yet  retired  for  the  night.  She  rang  the  bell,  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  door  was  opened  by  a  man-servant, 
whose  principal  duty  it  was  to  drive  the  sleek,  rotund,  and 
sedate  horses  which  pulled  the  old-fashioned  carriage  in 
which  Margaret's  grandmother  and  mother  had  ridden,  and 
of  which  she  occasionally  made  use. 

'Does  Mr.  John  Holmes -live  here?"  inquired  Sal. 

'  Yes." 

'  Can  I  see  his  daughter  ?" 

'  He  has  no  daughter." 

'  Has  no  daughter  ?"  exclaimed  Sal,  with  astonishment. 
"  Does  not  Miss  Holmes  live  here  ?" 

15 


162  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"  There's  no  Miss  Holmes,  to  my  knowledge,  in  this  house 
or  anywhere  else,"  replied  the  man. 

"I  saw  a  young  lady  go  in  here  this  afternoon.  I  know 
her,  and  have  some  very  important  business  with  her." 

"  Perhaps  you  mean  Miss  Margaret,  Mr.  Holmes's  grand- 
daughter ?" 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  so.  Will  you  please  tell  her  Sarah 
Tompkins  would  like  to  see  her  ?" 

"  Sit  down  here  in  the  hall  and  I'll  tell  her." 

Margaret  was  not  in  the  parlor  nor  in  the  library.  At 
last  she  was  found  sitting  on  the  piazza,  where  she  had  re- 
mained after  her  grandfather  had  gone  to  his  laboratory. 
For  an  hour  she  had  been  watching  the  gathering  clouds, 
thinking  over  the  events  of  the  day,  and  building  castles  in 
the  air  with  an  architectural  skill  which  only  youth  pos- 
sesses in  the  highest  degree. 

"  There's  a  young  woman  in  the  hall  wants  to  speak  with 
you,  Miss  Margaret,"  said  the  servant. 

"A  young  woman  wants  to  speak  with  me  ?"  exclaimed 
Margaret. 

"Yes,  Miss,  she  says  her  name  is  Sarah  Tompkins." 

Margaret  started  at  the  name,  and  hurried  to  the  hall, 
where  Sal  awaited  her.  She  felt  sure  it  was  no  trifling 
matter  that  had  brought  the  girl  to  her  at  that  hour  of  the 
night,  and  the  moment  her  eyes  met  those  of  her  morning's 
acquaintance  her  anticipations  were  fully  realized. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Sarah,"  she  said,  as  she  held 
out  her  hand.  "  Come  into  the  library,  where  we  can  talk 
better  than  here.  Did  you  come  all  alone  on  such  a  dark 
night,  too  ?" 

"Yes,  I  came  alone.  I  am  used  to  being  out  late  at 
night,  and  I  can  find  my  way  all  over  New  York,  no  matter 
how  dark  it  may  be." 

"Now,  Sarah, "said  Margaret,  when  she  and  the  girl  had 
got  seated  at  the  library  table,  "can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? 
You  must  not  forget  what  I  told  you  this  morning,  and  how 
anxious  I  am  to  help  you  in  any  way  that  is  right  and  in 
my  power." 

"I  have  not  forgotten  it;  but  I  have  come  to  do  you  a 
service,  not  to  ask  one." 

In  as  few  words  as  possible,  Sarah  related  to  Margaret 
all  she  knew  of  the  contemplated  burglary. 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  163 

Margaret  listened,  with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  astonish- 
ment, to  the  account  given  her.  When  it  was  finished,  she 
took  one  of  Sarah's  hands  in  both  of  hers  and  said,  with 
much  feeling  : 

"I  told  you  this  morning  I  did  not  believe  you  were  a 
bad  girl,  and  my  opinion  is  already  verified.  I  cannot 
thank  you  enough  now  for  what  you  have  done.  I  can 
understand  how  great  the  struggle  in  your  mind  must  have 
been,  but  it  only  makes  your  act  a  more  noble  one.  Of  course 
you  wish  me  to  tell  my  grandfather  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  came  to  prevent  the  robbery,  but  I  don't  want 
the  men  harmed  if  it  can  be  helped.  They  have  always 
been  good  friends  to  me." 

Requesting  Sarah  to  remain  in  the  library  till  her  return, 
Margaret  went  to  the  laboratory  in  search  of  her  grand- 
father. There  he  was,  with  Joshua,  busy  over  his  solutions, 
precipitates,  crucibles,  and  retorts,  commencing  anew  the 
labor,  the  fruits  of  which  she,  in  a  moment  of  thoughtless- 
ness, had  destroyed.  The  occasion  was  one,  however,  of 
too  much  importance  for  delay,  and  so  she  at  once  called 
him  aside  and  related  what  Sarah  had  told  her. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  come  into  the  library  and  see 
her  for  yourself,  dear  grandpapa.  I  am  sure  she  has  told  the 
truth." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  my  darling.  There  can  be  no 
object  in  telling  such  a  story  if  it  were  false.  She  evidently 
wishes  to  do  you  a  service." 

John  Holmes  accompanied  Margaret  to  the  library,  where 
Sarah  again  related  the  particulars  of  the  proposed  burglary. 

"  There  will  be  three  of  them,"  she  said.  "  They  will  be 
here  between  two  and  three  o'clock,  and  will  try  to  enter 
by  the  garden  windows,  of  a  passage  which  they  say  con- 
nects a  wing  with  the  main  building.  I  hope  it  will  not  be 
necessary  to  do  them  any  injury.  Can  they  not  be  scared 
away  before  they  succeed  in  breaking  into  the  house  ?" 

"You  have  rendered  us  so  great  a  service,  Sarah,"  said 
John  Holmes,  "that  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power,  short  of 
compounding  a  felony,  to  meet  your  wishes  in  this  matter. 
It  is  very  natural  you  should  feel  kindly  toward  those  who, 
as  you  say,  have  always  treated  you  with  kindness.  I  think 
it  can  be  arranged  as  you  wish  without  difficulty.  At  the 


164  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

same  time,  however,  we  must  manage  to  give  them  such  a 
fright  that  they  will  not  be  likely  to  repeat  the  visit,  and 
afterward  we  can  start  so  keen  a  pursuit  that  they  will  cer- 
tainly be  forced  to  leave  the  country,  and  perhaps  even  to 
change  their  profession  for  others  more  honest.  I  think  I 
am  bound  in  honor  to  do  this  much  on  your  account.  As 
to  our  plans,  we  have  four  men  available  here,  and  I  think 
I  will  send  round  for  Mr.  Severne,  as  much  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  hi*  advice  as  for  his  assistance.  Besides,  Sarah, 
he  is  very  anxious  to  see  you.  He  takes  a  deep  interest  in 
you." 

"  I  do  not  know  him,"  said  Sarah. 

"  He  knows  you,  I  believe  ;  but  I  w411  let  him  explain  his 
business  in  his  own  way." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  wait  any  longer,"  said  the  girl.  "  I 
have  done  all  I  came  to  do.  I  will  come  and  see  you  to- 
morrow," she  continued,  turning  to  Margaret,  "  and  ask 
you  to  help  another  girl  and  me  to  get  some  honest  work. 
I  cannot  live  any  longer  as  I  have  lived,  much  less  with 
tnose  I  have  betrayed." 

Tears  started  to  her  eyes  as  she  said  these  last  words. 
Margaret  looked  at  her  grandfather,  and,  meeting  no  look 
but  one  of  kindness  and  approval,  she  said  : 

"No,  Sarah,  you  must  not  go  to-night.  Stay  with  me, 
and  to-morrow  we  will  talk  about  the  future.  I  shall  never 
forget  what  you  have  doue  for  us,  and  neither  will  grand- 
papa. I  hope  you  will  never  return  to  the  house  you  have 
left  to-night." 

It  did  not  require  much  persuasion  to  induce  Sal  to  ac- 
cede to  Margaret's  proposal,  for  besides  the  fact  that  she 
had  no  definite  plan  as  to  where  she  should  pass  the  night, 
she  could  not  resist  the  inducement  it  held  out  of  further 
association  with  the  one  she  had  begun  to  love  so  warmly. 
She  therefore  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  Margaret  rang  for 
the  chambermaid,  to  give  the  necessary  orders  relative  to 
providing  for  her  comfort. 

While  the  two  girls  were  engaged  in  conversation,  John 
Holmes  had  dispatched  a  messenger  with  a  note  for  Sev- 
erne, requesting  his  presence  immediately,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  latter  arrived  at  the  house.  John  Holmes  met 
him  in  the  hall,  and,  taking  him  into  the  parlor,  related  all 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  165 

that  had    occurred,  and  requested   his  advice  and  assist- 
ance. 

"  We  must  manage  the  matter  ourselves,  I  suppose, "said 
Severne.  "If  we  call  in  the  police,  they  will  of  course 
take  entire  charge  of  the  affair,  and  the  enterprising  gen- 
tlemen who  are  longing  for  the  contents  of  your  safe  and 
plate  chest  will  come  to  grief.  I  should  think  that,  with 
your  chemical  knowledge,  you  could  readily  devise  means 
for  making  them  regard  burglary  for  the  future  as  a  very 
hazardous  profession — and  especially  so  when  attempted  on 
your  house.  I  am  clearly  of  your  opinion,  that  you  owe  it 
to  Sarah  to  see  that  these  men  are  not  seriously  injured  nor 
arrested,  unless  you  -are  compelled  to  do  one  or  the  other 
through  their  persistency.  I  am  at  your  service  for  any- 
thing, but  I  am  certain  you  can  think  out  a  system  of  de- 
fense and  offense  better  than  I  can.  In  the  mean  time, 
while  you  are  doing  that,  I  will  be  making  the  further  ac- 
quaintance of  Miss  Sarah.  Is  she  in  the  library  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  and  my  granddaughter  are  both  there." 

"  Miss  Leslie,  too  !  That  will  be  a  double  pleasure. 
Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  introduce  me  to  her  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Severne — with  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure. I  scarcely  think  either  of  them  will  care  to  go  to  bed 
till  this  affair  is  over,  and  Margaret,  I  am  sure,  will  be  glad 
to  have  your  society.  What  a  singular  thing  it  is  that  you 
should  become  acquainted  with  her  at  such  an  hour  and 
under  such  circumstances  1" 

John  Holmes  then  led  the  way  to  the  library,  and,  intro- 
ducing Severne  in  due  form  to  Margaret,  left  the  room  to 
make  preparations  for  the  burglars'  reception. 

"  I  did  not  think,  Miss  Leslie,  when  I  saw  you  this  morn- 
ing," said  Severne,  "that  I  was  so  soon  to  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  you.  I  presume  I  must  thank  my  young 
friend  here  for  this  early  opportunity?" 

With  these  last  words  he  turned  to  Sarah,  and  holding 
out  his  hand  to  her,  said  :  "  Do  you  not  recollect  me  ?" 

She  shrank  from  taking  his  outstretched  hand,  and  averted 
her  face  in  shame. 

"  Will  you  not  speak  to  me,  Sarah  ?"  he  resumed,  with  a 
kind  smile,  "and  let  me  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done 
to-night  ?" 

15* 


IfiG  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"  I  deceived  you  once,"  she  at  last  said,  "  and  I  might  do 
it  again." 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  that  of  you.  On  the  contrary,  I  am 
very  sure  you  would  not.  The  fact  that  you  are  here  to- 
night on  such  an  errand  as  brought  you  assures  me  that 
even  I  am  safe." 

"Everybody  is  too  kind  to  me,"  said  the  girl,  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  weeping.  "I  do  not  deserve 
it.  I  do  not  understand  it.  I  have  injured  you  all,  and 
you  all  wish  to  be  good  to  me." 

."  My  dear  child,"  said  Severne,  "when  I  first  saw  you 
last  winter  I  said  to  my  friend — who  was  with  me  you  will 
recollect — that  I  was  sure  you  were  a  good  girl.  I  have  not 
changed  my  opinion  since  then,  except  for  about  five  min- 
utes, when  my  better  judgment  was  clouded  by  a  little 
wounded  self-love.  I  know  the  power  of  evil  associations, 
but  I  know  also,  as  well  as  I  know  anything,  that  they  can- 
not entirely  blot  out  the  good  traits  which  God  has  put  into 
our  hearts,  and  therefore  I  was  certain  that  if  you  were 
removed  from  their  influences,  and  subjected  to  others  more 
favorable  to  the  growth  of  virtue,  the  effort  would  not  be 
made  in  vain.  Since  then,  I  have  been  trying  to  find  you, 
in  order  that  I  might  offer  you  the  opportunity  of  changing 
your  mode  of  life ;  but  it  is  only  within  the  last  few  days 
that  I  have  received  any  information  as  to  your  whereabouts. 
I  will  not  say  anything  further  on  the  subject  now,  as  there 
are  other  matters  which  require  our  immediate  attention.  I 
only  ask  that  you  will  regard  me  as  a  friend  who  wishes  to 
aid  you  as  a  brother  would  wish  to  aid  a  sister.  Shall  it  be 
so,  Sarah  ?" 

"  You  do  not  know  how  bad  I  am,"  sobbed  Sarah,  the  tears 
streaming  through  her  fingers.  "  I  am  riot  fit  to  be  here  ; 
not  fit  to  speak  to  her.  If  you  knew  all  you  would  put  me 
out  into  the  street.  There  is  not  a  girl  in  New  York  worse 
than  I  am." 

Margaret  came  to  Sarah,  and  putting  her  arms  around 
her  neck,  tried  to  soothe  her ;  but  the  girl  sprang  away  from 
her  touch,  and  throwing  herself  on  the  floor,  gave  unre- 
strained expression  to  her  grief,  which  the  newly  awakened 
sense  of  her  guilty  and  shameful  life  had  aroused. 

Severne  and  Margaret  looked  at  her  silently,  but  with 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  167 

intense  interest.  He  knew  that  Sarah  was  already  experi- 
encing the  effect  of  association  with  one  of  Margaret's  gen- 
tleness and  goodness,  and  he  saw  in  the  circumstance  addi- 
tional confirmation  of  the  opinions  he  had  expressed. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  leave  her  to  your  care, 
Miss  Leslie,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  It  is  a  good  sign, 
and  when  the  violence  of  her  grief  has  subsided  she  will  be 
better  prepared  to  hear  what  we  have  to  say  to  her.  I 
think  all  our  plans  in  regard  to  her  will  succeed,  especially 
with  your  aid  given  to  them.  Do  you-  know,  I  think  she 
looks  like  you  ?  When  I  passed  yon  to-day,  as  I  was  pay- 
ing a  visit  to  your  grandfather,  I  was  struck  with  the  im- 
pression that  I  had  seen  a  face  like  yours  before." 

"  She  is  about  my  own  age,  I  should  think, "said  Marga- 
ret. "  Her  hair  is  much  darker,  however,  than  mine,  and 
her  eyes  are  of  a  different  color.  You  know,  though,  we 
are  never  ourselves  judges  of  resemblances  of  others  to  us." 

"  She  is  very  much  like  you,  nevertheless  ;  more,  per- 
haps, in  expression  than  in  features,  though  even  there  I  can 
perceive  the  resemblance.  She  seems  to  have  formed  a  very 
warm  feeling  of  regard  for  you." 

"Yes;  and  yet  I  have  done  nothing  for  her  except  to 
speak  as  kindly  to  her  as  I  knew  how." 

"Ah,  that  is  it,  Miss  Leslie.  Kind  words  are  the  weap- 
ons which  gain  us  the  most  enduring  victories  over  our  erring 
and  perverse  fellow-creatures,  and  women  know  so  much 
better  how  to  use  them  than  men.  We  either  overdo  the 
attempt,  or  else  fail  to  touch  the  heart  at  all.  We  lack  the 
delicacy  of  expression,  the  power  to  modulate  our  tones, 
which  belong  to  your  sex,  and  without  which  no  language, 
however  well  meant,  will  have  a  full  effect.  You  will  do 
more  with  a  few  words  to  this  poor  child  than  I  could  with 
all  my  powers  of  oratory."  He  took  Margaret's  hand  as 
he  said  these  words,  and  pressing  it  gently  for  a  moment, 
let  it  go,  and  without  another  word  left  the  room. 

"  What  a  sweet,  lovely  child  she  is  !"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  passed  through  the  hall  in  search  of  John  Holmes. 
Scarcely  over  eighteen,  I  should  think.  I  have  never  seen 
so  beautiful  a  girl  in  all  my  life  before.  John  Holmes's 
granddaughter  !  To  think  that  the  old  fellow  should  have 
had  such  an  angel  as  that  in  his  house  for  eighteen  years, 


168  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

and  I  not  know  it !  I  must  see  more  of  her.  The  mere 
sight  of  so  much  loveliness  seems  to  renew  my  lease  of  life. 
Pshaw  !  1  am  almost  old  enough  to  be  her  father  !  Still, 
that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  take  pleasure  in  being  with 
her.  No  man,  no  matter  how  old  he  may  be,  can  be  thrown 
into  association  with  a  girl  like  that,  and  not  be  bettered  by 
the  contact.  Ah,  here  are  Holmes  and  his  factotum  I" 

John  Holmes  and  Joshua  were  busy  arranging  the  win- 
dow through  which  the  robbers  designed  effecting  their 
entrance,  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  them  a  rather  astonishing 
reception.  Joshua,  who  was  an  excellent  pyrotechnist,  had 
brought  his  skill  into  requisition,  and  had  devised  a  system 
of  detonating  compounds,  and  other  explosive  and  illumi- 
nating contrivances,  which  he  had  no  doubt  would  strike 
terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  individuals  who  contemplated 
a  violation  of  the  Eighth  Commandment. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Severne,"  he  said.  "  You  see  how  this 
thing  is  fixed.  As  soon  as  they  open  this  window  to  the 
extent  of  half  an  inch,  this  lever  is  sprung,  that  sets  off  this 
friction  tube,  and  that  sets  the  fuse  on  fire,  and  away  goes 
the  whole  thing.  It's  like  a  row  of  bricks ;  start  one, 
and  all  the  rest  fall,  too.  I  can't  find  anything  that  my 
worthy  friend,  Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  says  against  fire- 
works." 

"  Yes,  I  see  you  have  made  arrangements  which  will  cer- 
tainly deter  them  from  entering  by  this  window,"  said  Sev- 
erne. "  They  will  think  that  they  have  run  against  the 
lower  regions,  instead  of  the  residence  of  a  venerable  citi- 
zen. But  this  is  not  enough,"  he  continued,  addressing 
1  John  Holmes,  who  was  regarding  Joshua's  work  with  looks 
of  approval ;  "  we  must  let  them  understand  that  we  know 
who  they  are.  We  must,  therefore,  call  out  their  names, 
and  put  our  other  two  men  in  the  garden  to  do  the  same 
thing  when  they  are  retreating.  And,  besides  this,  we  must 
have  arms,  so  as  to  resist  them  effectually  should  they  per- 
sist in  endeavoring  to  get  in.  I  think  that  when  the  rascals 
find  out  that  we  know  who  they  are,  they  will  not  remain  in 
New  York  till  morning.  Do  you  know  their  names  ?" 

"No,  I  do  not,"  replied  John  Holmes,  "but  I  can  very 
soon  ascertain  them.  I  think  your  plan  is  admirable.  I 
suppose  the  young  woman  will  have  no  objection  to  telling 


ROBERT    8EVERNE.  lf>9 

me  the  names  of  our  visitors."  And  with  these  words,  he 
proceeded  to  the  library  to  get  the  desired  information. 

"  So  there's  a  woman  in  this  affair  too,  Mr.  Severne  !"  said 
Joshua.  "They  can't  keep  out  of  mischief  if  they  try  ever 
so  hard,  and  most  times  they  don't  try.  They  like  it.  They 
can't  live  without  what  they  call  excitement.  I  wonder  if 
she  knows  what's  going  on  ?"  he  continued,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  I  think  I'll  go  and  tell  her." 

"There  is  a  woman  in  it,  as  you  say,  Joshua,"  replied 
Severne,  smiling,  "  and  it  is  well  for  us  that  there  is.  You 
seem  to  be  something  of  a  misogynist." 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  what  a  misogynist  is,  but  if  it 
means  a  man  who  don't  like  the  generality  of  women,  then 
I'm  one.  I  must  say,  after  having  studied  the  subject  for 
twenty  years  and  more,  that  in  my  humble  opinion  women 
are  very  much  overrated." 

"  Then  you  have  never  been  in  love  ?" 

"  I  don't  say  I  have  and  I  don't  say  I  haven't.  That's 
neither  here  nor  there." 

"And  you  think  all  women  are  overrated  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  that  either.  I  didn't  make  use  of  the  word 
all.  But  there's  something  I've  got  to  see  to  before  these 
fellows  come,  and  I'll  do  it  now  while  there's  time  if  you'll 
excuse  me,  Mr.  Severne,  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  If  she  has  not  gone  to  bed,"  continued  Joshna,  as  he 
walked  away,  "I'll  find  her  probably  just  where  I  left  her. 
How  she'll  be  frightened,  she's  so  timid  and  helpless.  She's 
like  the  ivy;  she  can't  live  without  a  stronger  being  to  cling 
to  and  to  shield  her  from  the  storms"  of  life.  There's  ^)ne  of 
those  storms  coming  on  now,  and  I'll  protect  her  through  it 
as  sure  as  my  name's  Joshua  I'd  like  to  see  anybody  hurt 
a  hair  of  her  head  !"  he  exclaimed,  shaking  his  fist  at  an 
imaginary  enemy  of  his  Adelina.  "  If  I  didn't  make  mince- 
meat of  him,  then  may  I  never  be  blessed  forever  and  ever  !" 

Arriving  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Murkland's  sitting-room, 
Joshua  tapped  on  it  lightly,  and  awaited  the  invitation  to 
enter.  Receiving  no  summons,  he  knocked  again  a  little 
louder  than  before.  Still  no  response.  With  great  quiet- 
ness and  caution — for  Joshua  felt  that  he  was  trespassing 
on  holy  ground — he  opened  the  door  and  peeped  in.  A 
solitary  candle  was  burning  on  the  mantle- piece,  and  by  its 


170  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

dim  light  he  perceived  his  dear  Adelina  asleep  in  her  chair. 
Mrs.  Markland  was  really  quite  a  pretty  woman,  and  Joshua 
thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  beautiful.  There 
was  a  repose  about  her  features,  a  soft,  confiding  expres- 
sion, which  seemed  to  say,  "I  have  put  my  trust  in  him  and 
have  no  longer  any  fear  of  the  world,"  which  caused  Joshua's 
heart  to  swell  with  love  and  courage. 

He  approached  nearer,  and  stooped,  as  if  to  imprint  a 
kiss  upon  the  lips  which,  only  partly  closed,  allowed  her 
beautiful  teeth  to  be  seen  through  the  rosy  opening;  but,  ere 
he  could  bend  his  head  low  enough,  she  moved  uneasily  in 
her  chair,  and  spoke  a  few  words  which  Joshua  did  not 
clearly  hear.  He  withdrew  a  step  and  waited  till  she  should 
be  more  composed.  Again  she  spoke,  and  this  time  every 
word  came  through  her  lips  with  the  emphasis  which  only 
comes  from  strong  feeling. 

"So  my  time  has  come  at  last,  has  it?"  she  said.  "I 
knew  I  could  teach  you  a  lesson  if  I  tried.  You  haven't 
insulted  me  all  these  years  for  no  purpose,  and  now  I'll  get 
even  with  you.  You  thought  I  loved  you  ?  Who  said  I 
didn't  ?  Am  I  to  let  you  do  as  you  please  because  you 
thought  I  loved  you  ?  Man  of  science  !  Yes,  a  pretty  man 
of  science  you  are.  That's  what  I  took  you  to  be  and  you've 
deceived  me.  Me,  your  lawful  wife.  Oh,  what  a  life  I've 
had  !  First  a  clown  and  then  a  fool ;  one  was  a  sham  and  the 
other's  the  real  thing.  I've  gone  farther  and  fared  worse. 
Serves  me  right,  does  it  ?  And  you  dare  to  tell  me  that ! 
You'll  break  my  heart  with  your  cruelty  and  oppression. 
I'll  not  endure  it !  I'll  appeal  to  the  law  1  I'll  see  if  there 
isn't  a  way  to  make  you  treat  me  with  respect  at  least,  even 
if  you  do  hate  me.  Markland  !  How  dare  you  mention 
that  name  to  me,  you  miserable  quack  !  You'll  do  as  you 
please!  Murder!  murder!  murder!" 

Fearful  that  some  of  the  other  inmates  of  the  house  would 
be  aroused  by  Mrs.  Markland's  exclamations,  which  were 
given  with  quite  a  loud  voice,  and  having  beard  enough  to 
destroy  his  peace  of  mind  for  some  time,  Joshua  took  his 
departure  as  quietly  as  he  had  entered,  and  closed  the  door 
tightly  after  him. 

When  he  got  fairly  into  the  hall,  he  stopped  and  drew  a 
long  breath. 

• 


ROBERT    8E VERNE.  171 

"It's  bad  enough,"  he  said,  "to  find  out  that  she's  snch 
a  Jezebel,  but  to  think  that  she  should  have  humbugged 
rae  that  way  is  what  I  don't  think  I  ever  can  get  over.  It's 
too  bad,  it  really  is.  It  gives  me'a  poor  opinion  of  human 
nature  in  general,  and  much  worse  of  women  in  particular. 
What  an  escape  I've  had  !  But  I'm  safe.  I've  heard  enough 
to  fix  that  business;  and  I  hope  I  may  be  blessed  forever 
and  ever!" 

"  Come,  Joshua. "said  John  Holmes,  who  at  that  moment 
came  into  the  hall,  "I  have  been  looking  for  you.  It  is 
nearly  two  o'clock,  and  it  is  time  you  made  the  connection 
between  the  window  and  your  infernal  machines.  Here  is 
a  pistol  for  you  ;  take  care,  it  is  loaded  !" 

Everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  burglars'  reception. 
The  coachman  and  gardener  were  posted  in  the  garden  con- 
cealed from  view — but  in  a  place  whence  they  could  observe 
the  approaches  to  the  window — well  armed,  and  with  in- 
structions to  call  out  the  names  of  the  robbers,  and  discharge 
their  pistols  in  the  air  as  they  retreated. 

John  Holmes,  Severne,  and  Joshua  stood  in  the  passage- 
way between  the  wing  and  the  main  building,  also  armed, 
and  prepared  to  contest  with  vigor  any  attempt  the  robbers 
might  make  to  enter,  should  they  not  be  frightened  by  the 
pyrotechnic  arrangements.  Joshua  had  placed  all  his  ap- 
paratus above  and  on  each  side  of  the  window  exteriorly  to 
the  house,  but  in  such  positions  as  that  the  several  pieces 
were  not  likely  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  burglars. 
The  lights  about  the  house  were  all  lowered  except  those 
in  the  laboratory,  which  were  kept  burning  so  as  not  to  in- 
duce any  change  in  the  programme  of  operations  which  had 
been  agreed  upon  by  the  robbers. 

They  had  waited  quietly  for  about  half  an  hour  when 
Severne's  watchful  ear  heard  footsteps  on  the  gravel-walk 
of  the  garden;  looking  through  an  opening  which  had  been 
left  in  the  shutters,  he  saw  the  men  stealthily  making  their 
way  toward  the  house.  The  clouds  had  broken  away,  and 
the  moon  occasionally  permitted  him  to  see  them  with  great 
distinctness  without  any  risk  of  being  seen  in  return,  as  the 
passage  was  entirely  dark.  To  reach  the  window  the  rob- 
bers were  obliged  to  ascend  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  and 
walk  some  twenty  or  thirty  feet  on  the  flooring  of  the  porch. 


172  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

On  they  came,  the  boards  creaking  under  their  footsteps  so 
as  to  be  heard  by  all  in  the  passage,  and  presently  both  of 
them  stood  in  front  of  the  window.  Severne  still  continued 
to  look  at  them  through 'the  shutters,  one  hand  resting  on 
the  window-sill  and  the  other  firmly  grasping  his  revolver. 
Tor  a  second  or  two  the  men  were  silent,  and  then  one  of 
them  spoke. 

"  Is  Bill  outside  or  inside  the  garden  ?" 

"  He's  inside.  I  told  him  to  walk  quietly  about  the 
grounds  within  hail,  so  as  to  give  us  a  chance  to  show  our 
heels  if  the  crushers  came  about.  There's  no  fears  of  them, 
though.  They  can't  keep  their  eyes  open  after  one  o'clock." 

"All  right  there,  Jack.  Come,  open  the  bag  and  get  the 
tools  out." 

'*  I  don't  believe  we'll  have  much  trouble  with  this  win- 
dow, Jim.  I'll  just  saw  around  this  fixing,  and  then  the 
jimmy  will  do  the  rest." 

With  great  dexterity,  but  with  very  little  noise,  Jack 
Duggau  used  his  saw,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  piece  of 
woodwork,  upon  which  the  fastening  of  the  window  was 
placed,  was  in  his  hands. 

"Now,  Jim,  here's  the  lock;  hand  me  the  pig's  foot,  and 
I'll  make  short  work  of  it." 

He  took  the  short  but  strong  lever,  inserted  it  into  the 
hole  he  had  made,  and  began  to  exert  his  strength  upon  it. 
The  window  was  fastened  both  above  and  below  by  small 
brass  bolts,  which,  too  weak  to  resist  the  force  brought  to 
bear  upon  them,  were  slowly  but  steadily  giving  way.  Sud- 
denly, with  a  light  crash,  the  window  flew  wide  open,  and 
at  the  same  instant  there  was  a  dreadful  explosion,  followed 
by  a  rattling  of  smaller  reports,  a  series  of  hissing  sounds, 
and  a  burst  of  red,  white,  and  blue  lights,  which  illuminated 
the  garden.  Perfectly  taken  by  surprise,  it  was  some  sec- 
onds before  the  burglars  could  .sufficiently  collect  their  senses 
to  form  the  slightest  conception  of  what  had  occurred.  They 
had  both  been  knocked  down  by  the  force  of  the  first  explo- 
sion, but  were  not  seriously  hurt.  Before  they  could  rise, 
the  three  defenders  of  the  house  were  upon  them,  pistol  in 
hand.  Bill,  who  had  been  watching  in  the  garden,  hearing 
the  terrific  noise  raid  seeing  the  lights,  had  rushed  up  to  as- 
certain what  was  the  matter,  but  perceiving  that  there  were 


ROBERT    SB  VERNE.  173 

other  actors  in  the  scene,  he  had  commenced  a  precipitate 
retreat.  At  the  same  time,  the  two  robbers,  having  at  last 
obtained  a  dim  idea  of  the  situation  of  affairs,  jumped  off 
the  porch,  followed  closely  by  Severne  and  Joshua,  discharg- 
ing their  revolvers  as  rapidly  as  they  could  fire  them  off,  and 
shouting  the  names  of  the  three  baffled  burglars  at  the  top 
of  their  voices.  In  the  garden  they  were  joined  by  the 
two  men,  who  added  to  the  din.  and  who  took  after  the  in- 
truders with  a  speed  that  gave  promise  of  the  most  satisfac- 
tory results.  To  get  over  the  garden  wall,  which  was  of 
brick,  and  fully  six  feet  high,  would  have  been  no  easy  task 
under  the  most  favorable  circumstances.  To  do  so  with 
four  men  at  their  heels,  armed  with  revolvers,  and  appar- 
ently bent  on  their  capture,  was  a  still  more  difficult  under- 
taking. Nevertheless,  they  made  at  it  with  all  the  despera- 
tion inspired  by  fear,  and  were  fairly  on  top  by  the  most 
superhuman  exertions  without  the  loss  of  much  time,  when 
three  men  rose  up  suddenly,  as  if  out  of  the  earth,  and  each 
seizing  a  fugitive,  dragged  him  back  into  the  garden,  and 
held  him  in  a  grasp  of  iron. 

"  It's  no  use,  Jim,  we  know  you,  and  have  got  you  this 
time,"  said  he  who  appeared  to  be  the  leader  of  the  new 
party.  "Hand  out  those  handcuffs,  sergeant."  In  an  in- 
stant the  three  burglars  were  manacled,  and  by  the  time  Sev- 
erne and  his  men  reached  the  scene  of  action,  the  contest 
was  over. 

"What's  all  this?"  said  Severne  to  the  officer  in  com- 
mand, surprised  at  the  unexpected  termination  of  the  ad- 
venture. 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  the  captain  of  police,  "  I've  had 
one  of  my  men  watching  these  fellows'  crib  for  several  days 
and  nights,  and  this  morning  I  received  a  report  that  there 
was  a  burglary  in  contemplation.  I  detailed  three  of  my 
sharpest  men  to  lay  around  and  follow  them,  and  they  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  out  where  it  was  to  be,  just  in  time  to  let 
me  know.  I  came  on  the  ground  with  a  strong  force  almost 
as  soon  as  they  got  here,  and  so  yon  see  we've  nabbed  them. 
You  seem  to  have  been  prepared  for  them  too,  sir,  judging 
by  the  warm  reception  you've  given  them.  We  shall  want 
you  and  your  party  to  appear  to-morrow  morning  at  ten 
o'clock,  at  the  Tombs  Police  Court,  to  testify." 

16 


174  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"You  have  managed  the  matter  very  well  indeed,  captain. 
I  suppose  you  do  not  need  any  further  assistance  from  us  ?" 
said  Severne,  who  was  riot  at  all  sorry  that  the  burglars  had 
been  captured. 

"No,  sir,  we  can  manage  them,  I  think.  I  hope  you  have 
received  no  damage.  By-the-by,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper  to 
Severne,  "was  that  a  cannon  you  fired  at  them  ?" 

"Not  so  bad  as  that,"  replied  Severne,  with  a  smile. 

"Well,  you  made  an  awful  racket,  anyhow.  They  have 
scarcely  yet  recovered  from  their  fright.  Here,  men,"  he 
continued,  addressing  some  eight  or  ten  officers  who  had  col- 
lected around  the  defeated  burglars,  "move  these  fellows  off." 

"I  say,  captain,"  said  Jim  Terry,  "you  need  not  use  any 
violence  with  us,  we'll  go  along  like  lambs.  This  is  the 
worst  scrape  I  ever  got  in.  Lord  !  what  a  devil  of  a  rum- 
pus it  was, — just  as  if  all  hell  had  broke  loose  !" 

At  this  point,  John  Holmes,  who,  on  account  of  his  ad- 
vanced age,  had  not  joined  in  the  pursuit,  appeared  on  the 
ground  with  the  bag  containing  the  burglars'  tools.  Sev- 
erne, in  a  few  words,  explained  what  had  occurred,  and 
handed  the  bag  to  the  captain. 

"  Captain,"  said  Jim,  "  I  wish  you'd  send  one  of  your  men 
to  my  crib  for  some  duds.  There's  a  gal  there,  too,  who 
will  wonder  what  hasJbecome  of  me." 

"  Don't  give  yourself  any  uneasiness,  Jim,"  replied  the 
captain.  "  The  girl's  all  safe,  and  I'll  see  about  your  duds. 
Of  course,"  he  continued,  addressing  John  Holmes,  "  I  know 
where  she  is.  One  of  my  men  followed  her  here;  I  rather 
guess  she  got  scared,  and  gave  you  warning.  Look  out  for 
her.  She's  a  sharp  one  !  There  are  very  few  in  this  city 
who  can  beat  Sal  Tornpkins,  young  as  she  is.  Come,  men, 
move  on  !" 

The  gardener  had  by  this  time  unlocked  and  opened  the 
gate  that  led  into  the  street,  and  the  policemen,  escorting 
the  handcuffed  burglars,  passed  out  on  their  way  to  the  sta- 
tion-house. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  the  captain,  who  had  lingered  be- 
hind, "  I  understand  the  matter,  I  think.  Keep  a  sharp  eye 
on  that  girl,  though." 

A  policeman  came  up  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  the 
captain's  ear. 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  If 5 

"I'm  afraid  there's  been  foul  play,"  he  continued,  "at 
those  fellows'  house.  I  have  just  heard  that  a  girl  who 
belongs  to  their  party  has  been  found  dead  in  her  room.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  Jack  Duggan,  one  of  those  ras- 
cals there,  has  murdered  her.  He's  been  heard  to  threaten 
her,  and  was  quarreling  with  her  to-night.  Unless  I  can  be 
of  any  further  assistance  to  you,  I  must  say  good  night." 

"  Well,"  said  Severne,  "  I  have  had  my  ideas  relative  to 
the  efficiency  of  the  New  York  police  very  materially  en- 
larged within  the  last^half  hour.  Captain,  allow  me  to  bear 
witness  to  your  skill  and  courage  in  this  whole  matter, — 
good  night!" 

"  It's  a  very  satisfactory  termination  to  a  very  unpleasant 
affair,"  he  continued,  addressing  John  Holmes,  as  they 
walked  toward  the  house.  "The  rascals  have  been  captured 
without  our  assistance,  so  that  we  have  no  reproaches  to 
make  of  ourselves  for  any  breach  of  faith  to  our  informant. 
In  fact,  if  we  had  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  done  nothing, 
they  would  have  been  much  more  quickly  secured,  and  we 
should  have  been  spared  a  terrible  infliction  on  our  acoustic 
organs,  and  a  villainous  smell  of  saltpetre  and  other  dia- 
bolical substances.  They  might  have  made  a  disagreeable 
complication  too  in  my  future  plans  relative  to  Sarah.  The 
probability  now  is  that  they  will  not  have  much  opportunity 
during  the  next  twenty  years  for  interfering  in  any  matters 
which  may  transpire  in  the  City  of  New  York.  I  hope  Miss 
Leslie  has  not  been  alarmed  at  the  disturbance." 

"  I  went  to  the  library  to  explain  the  true  state  of  affairs 
before  I  left  the  house,  and  told  Margaret  and  Sarah  they 
had  better  both  go  to  bed,"  replied  John  Holmes.  "  I  think 
with  "you,  that  the  end  of  the  matter  is  very  proper.  I  did 
not,  I  must  confess,  feel  easy  at  the  idea  of  letting  those  fel- 
lows escape,  and  yet  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  an  act 
which  might  have  made  Sarah  repent  the  part  she  had  per- 
formed. Society  is  well  rid  of  such  ruffians.  I  hope  they 
have  not  added  murder  to  their  other  crimes  !" 

As  they  entered  the  house,  Margaret  met  them. 

"  I  have  seen  Sarah  in  bed,  dear  grandpapa.  She  was 
very  much  fatigued,  and  is  already  asleep.  I  put  her  into 
the  room  adjoining  mine,  where  I  am  sure  she  will  be  very 
comfortable." 


176  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"Yes,  my  dear  child,  and  you  must  be  very  much  over- 
come also.  I  think  you  had  better  take  some  of  the  medi- 
cine you  have  so  successfully  administered."  In  a  few  words 
John  Holmes  then  told  Margaret  how  the  attempted  burg- 
lary had  ended. 

"And  now  good  night,"  he  resumed,  as  he  kissed  her. 
"  We  must  leave  something  to  be  talked  over  to-morrow, 
and  I  am  sure  Mr.  Severne  will  excuse  you  if  you  take  your 
leave  of  him  till  then." 

"  Not  till  I  have  thanked  him,  dear  grandpapa,  for  all 
his  kindness,"  she  said,  as  she  put  her  little  hand  in  Severne's. 
"  Sarah  has  told  me  all,"  she  continued,  addressing  him. 
"  You  have  been  very  good  to  her,  and  I  am  sure  she  will 
find  her  best  friend  in  you.  And  for  what  you  have  done 
for  us  all  here  to-night,  grandpapa  will  thank  you  much 
better  than  I  can." 

Severne's  self-possession  deserted  him  for  a  moment,  and 
before  he  could  regain  it  she  was  gone.  And  then,  after 
making  arrangements  for  a  conference  in  which  to  discuss 
future  plans,  Severne  took  leave  of  John  Holmes  and  walked 
slowly  toward  his  own  house. 

The  dawn  was  just  beginning  to  break  in  the  east  as  he 
reached  the  door.  He  turned  and  looked  toward  the  dim, 
gray  light  which  overspread  the  horizon.  "  God  grant,"  he 
said,  "that  it  is  a  harbinger  of  a  day  that  ere  long  will 
break  over  my  soul." 


CHAPTER   XYII. 

IN    WHICH    THERE    IS    A    LITTLE    COMFORTING   PHILOSOPHY. 

JIM  TERRY,  Jack  Duggan,  and  Bill  Smithers  were  the 
next  day  committed  for  trial.  It  may  save  further  anxiety 
on  their  account  for  the  reader  to  be  informed  that  they 
were  subsequently  duly  convicted,  and  were  sentenced  each 
to  Sing  Sing  for  fifteen  years.  It  was  also  satisfactorily 
shown  at  the  coroner's  inquest  that  Betsey  had  committed 
suicide,  and  that  Jack  Duggan  was  not  therefore  directly 


ROBEKT   SE VERNE.  17 1 

chargeable  with  her  death.  The  empty  laudanum  bottle  was 
found  still  tightly  grasped  in  her  hand,  and  a  portion  of  the 
contents  was  discovered  in  her  stomach  upon  post-mortem 
examination.  Sarah  Tompkins  being  called  among  other 
witnesses,  testified  that  Betsey  had  frequently  threatened  to 
take  her  own  life.  Whether  or  not  Jack  Duggan  was 
morally  guilty  of  murder,  is  a  4uestion  not  admitting  of 
much  doubt. 

If  anything  additional  were  needed  to  convince  Sarah  of 
the  depravity  of  the  life  she  had  hitherto  led  and  to  cause 
her  to  form  resolutions  for  future  amendment,  it  was  fur- 
nished by  the  untimely  death  of  Betsey.  The  event  shocked 
and  grieved  her,  and  Severne,  in  his  conference  with  her  in 
which  he  unfolded  his  plans,  did  not  fail  to  make  a  proper 
use  of  the  lesson  to'  be  learned  from  the  sad  fate  of  her 
friend. 

At  the  meeting  to  which  allusion  is  made,  which  took 
place  the  day  after  the  attempted  burglary,  between  Severne, 
John  Holmes,  Margaret,  and  Sarah,  the  former  stated  in 
detail  the  views  which,  after  much  consideration,  struck  him 
as  being  most  advantageous  to  the  object  of  them,  and 
most  wise  in  all  other  respects.  Stripped  of  many  details 
into  which  Severne  entered  with  fullness,  and  which  showed 
that  he  had  forgotten  no  material  point,  they  embraced  the 
following  provisions : 

1st.  That  Sarah  should  acknowledge  him  as  her  guardian, 
and  should  at  once  take  up  her  residence  at  his  house  as  his 
ward. 

2d.  That  he  should  provide  suitable  means  for  her  moral 
and  intellectual  instruction. 

3d.  That  John  Holmes  and  Margaret  should  act  as  his 
collaborators,  giving  him  the  benefit  of  their  advice  and  as- 
sistance in  the  thousand  ways  in  which  he  should  need  both. 

The  meeting  was  in  the  library  of  John  Holmes's  house. 
Sarah  had,  in  a  measure,  recovered  from  her  depression  of 
the  previous  night.  Her  manner  was  calm  and  thoughtful, 
and  she  brought  the  good  common  sense  with  which  she 
was  so  highly  endowed  to  bear  upon  the  subject  of  her  pres- 
ent condition  and  the  prospects  which  appeared  to  be  open 
to  her.  She  saw  with  that  intuitive  perception,  however, 
which  so  many  women  possess,  that  she  was  altogether  uu- 

16* 


178  ROBERT   SEVKRN.E. 

fitted  in  every  respect  for  association  with  Margaret  Leslie 
upon  a  common  ground  of  equality.  She  felt  that  if  she 
appeared  as  she  really  was,  unrefined,  illiterate,  reeking,  as 
it  were,  with  the  contaminations  of  crime,  vulgarity,  and 
ignorance,  she  would  be  acting  ungenerously  and  unjustly 
to  one  who  had  been  both  generous  and  just  to  her.  She 
feared  to  expose  Margaret  to  the  possible  danger  of  such 
an  association,  and  she  dreaded  also  lest  her  friend  might, 
little  by  little,  come  to  understand  how  desperately  wicked 
and  low  her  life  had  been,  and  perhaps  even  to  despair  of 
effecting  any  permanent  improvement  in  her  character.  To 
keep  herself  as  much  as  possible  from  Margaret's  society, 
till  by  dint  of  courage,  and  perseverance,  and  good  counsels, 
she  had  rendered  herself  fit  for  it,  was  a  duty  she  imposed 
upon  herself,  and  which  she  resolved  should  be  honestly 
performed  so  far  as  God  should  give  her  strength. 

All  she  wanted  was  opportunity,  and  such  assistance  as 
she  felt  sure  her  newly-found  friends  would  give  her.  In 
what  form  these  were  to  come  she  did  not  know.  When, 
therefore,  Severne  stated  his  propositions  in  the  clear  and 
simple  manner  peculiar  to  him,  and  Sarah  understood  that 
he  was  offering  her  home,  education,  everything  in  fact 
which  a  father  could  give  to  a  loved  daughter,  she  was  so 
bewildered  that  she  could  scarcely  credit  the  evidence  of 
her  senses.  She  asked  herself  what  she  had  done  for  him 
that  he  should  take  so  deep  an  interest  in  her  ?  And  she 
found  it  utterly  impossible  to  answer  the  question  in  a  satis- 
factory manner.  She  was  lost  in  thought,  vainly  trying  to 
comprehend  the  matter,  when  she  was  aroused  by-Severne, 
who  had  taken  a  seat  by  her  side,  speaking  to  her.  She 
looked  up  from  the  floor.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears, 
and  her  lips  quivered  with  emotion.  She  tried  to  speak — 
to  say  just  one  word  of  thanks,  but  the  attempt  was  alto- 
gether in  vain. 

"Nevermind  now,  Sarah,"  said  Severne,  "I  understand 
you  as  well  a.s  if  you  spoke  volumes  of  words.  We  will 
therefore  consider  the  matter  as  an  affaire  accompli,  and  I 
will  leave  Miss  Leslie  to  explain  to  you  what  that  \%,  for  I 
do  not  believe  you  know." 

Margaret  also  came  to  Sarah.  She  saw  at  once  that  it 
would  be  better  for  her  to  be  alone  for  a  short  time,  and 


EGBERT    SE VERNE.  179 

therefore,  after  speaking  a  few  comforting  and  reassuring 
words  to  her,  she  left  the  room  in  company  with  Severne 
and  her  grandfather.  The  latter  did  not  remain  long  with 
them,  as  he  had  important  business  to  transact  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  city,  and  thus  for  the  first  time  Severne  and 
Margaret  were  left  alone. 

"  How  kind  you  are  I"  she  said,  as  she  stood  by  his  side 
in  the  large  bay-window  that  overlooked  the  garden  from 
the  parlor.  "I  can  scarcely  conceive  of  an  action  more 
unselfish  than  that  you  contemplate." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  remarked.  "  I  am  afraid,  Miss 
Leslie,  you  do  not  see  very  deeply  into  my  motives.  I  do 
not  recollect  that  I  ever  devised  a  scheme  in  my  life  more 
thoroughly  selfish  in  its  character  than  the  one  you  com- 
mend. Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  continued,  as  he 
observed  her  surprised  look.  "I  do  not  think  I  should  have 
thought  of  it  unless  I  had  seen  that  it  would  certainly  result 
in  benefit  to  this  poor  girl ;  but  the  prime,  the  governing 
motive  was  and  is  selfish  in  the  extreme." 

"I  do  not  understand  you, "she  said,  looking  full  into  his 
face,  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  frankness. 

"  It  is  very  simple.  I  am  desirous  of  gratifying  myself, 
of  seeing  the  pleasure  which  will  arise  from  the  conscious- 
ness that  I  have  been  instrumental  in  removing  her  from  low 
and  criminal  associations,  and  from  educating  her  according 
to  my  own  ideas.  Is  not  that  selfishness  ?" 

"Perhaps  so, "she  replied  ;  "but  I  look  upon  it  as  a  very 
noble  and  worthy  kind  of  selfishness.  We  are  all  entitled 
to  the  reward  of  an  approving  conscience." 

"Yes,  when  we  have  been  actuated  to  the  performance  of 
a  good  act  because  it  is  good,  and  for  no  less  worthy  a  motive. 
I  feel  myself  in  the  position  of  a  policeman  who  joins  in  the 
hue  and  cry  after  a  criminal,  not  because  it  is  his  duty  to  do 
so,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  reward  offered  for  the  apprehen- 
sion." 

"lam  sure  you  are  unjust  to  yourself,"  said  Margaret, 
"  and  that  you  have  the  happiness  of  Sarah  more  at  heart 
than  your  own  gratification.  Indeed,"  she  continued,  "  I 
am  very  confident  that  you  would  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice 
your  own  happiness  to  secure  hers." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  would  not,"  he  answered,  smiling; 


180  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"  but  even  that  would  be  because  I  should  experience  more 
pleasure  in  being  miserable  than  in  seeing  her  so." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Severne,  if  that  is  what  you  call  selfishness, 
I  hope  I  may  be  selfish  all  my  life.  We  are  always,  I  think, 
justified  in  doing  those  good  acts  which  will  make  us  happy. 
I  presume  very  few  of  us  are  virtuous  from  motives  of  ab- 
stract goodness  alone.  God  teaches  us  to  be  upright  in  all 
our  thoughts  and  deeds,  in  the  hope  of  happiness  here  and 
hereafter.  I  should  not  care  to  inquire  into  any  one's  mo- 
tives for  a  good  action.  Let  him  or  her  reap  all  the  re- 
wards which  belong  to  it,  and  one  of  the  best  and  most  val- 
uable of  these  is  our  own  self-consciousness  of  a  duty  well 
done.  When  we  have  that,  we  can  dispense  with  all  others, 
or  can  be  willing  to  incur  the  obloquy  and  reproach  of 
those  who  refuse  to  understand  us  aright,  or  else  pretend, 
for  their  own  base  purposes,  to  see  wrong  where  there  is 
none." 

Margaret  spoke  earnestly.  Her  face  glowed  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  her  manner  showed  in  each  detail  that  every  word 
was  dictated  by  a  spirit  of  truth  and  sincerity.  Severne 
looked  at  her  admiringly,  more  so  perhaps  than  was  strictly 
proper,  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  studying  a  face  which  was  more  in  accordance  with 
his  ideas  of  female  beauty  than  any  he  had  ever  seen.  He 
watched  with  intense  interest  and  pleasure  the  varying  ex- 
pression of  her  soft,  dark-blue  eyes,  and  the  graceful  motions 
of  her  exquisitely  moulded  lips,  which,  as  her  voice  passed 
from  them,  gave  to  her  utterance  an  impress  of  guilelessness 
and  candor  which  mere  words  would  never  have  conveyed 
with  all  the  powers  and  subtleties  of  language  brought  to 
bear  upon  them. 

She  had  finished  speaking,  and  yet  Severne  did  not  take 
his  eyes  from  her  face.  Her  color  was  heightened  a  little, 
and  she  looked  modestly  down  at  the  floor,  as  she  said  : 

"  I  have  merely  told  you  what  I  believe,  Mr.  Severne.  I 
confess  that  my  idea  of  our  incentives  to  virtue  is  not  so 
high  as  yours,  yet  I  think  it  is  more  real  and  more  generous. 
I  am  speaking  only  of  human  nature  as  we  find  it.  Not  as 
philosophers  would  have  it,  but  as  God  made  it.  I  do  not 
think  the  heart  of  man  is  altogether  depraved,  and  that  good 
actions  are  always  done  for  mercenary  motives.  But  though 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  181 

it  may  be  a  lamentable  confession  for  me  to  make,  I  feel  very 
sure  that  if  virtue  was  not  in  some  way  its  own  reward,  there 
would  be  very  little  virtue  in  the  world.  I  cannot,  however, 
argue  the  matter.  I  am  conscious  that  I  have  not  made  my- 
self understood,  and  am  fearful  you  will  attach  more  mean- 
ing to  my  language  than  I  intend." 

"No,  Miss  Leslie,"  said  Severne,  with  a  gravity  of  tone 
which  startled  her,  "I  do  not  misunderstand  you.  You  are 
telling  me  what  I  know  to  be  true,  that  if  the  practice  of 
virtue  made  us  unhappy,  we  would  not  trouble  ourselves  to 
be  virtuous,  and  that  we  may  fairly  claim  all  the  rewards 
which  accrue  from  our  good  actions.  I  wish  you  could 
make  me  believe  that  our  conduct  is  not  altogether  influ- 
enced by  the  selfish  considerations  I  have  mentioned.  I 
might  then  have  a  better  opinion  of  myself  than  I  have  at 
present." 

"I  should  not  wish  to  do  so,  Mr.  Severne.  I  believe  it 
is  perfectly  right  that  we  should  do  our  duty,  because  in  the 
full  performance  of  it  we  add  to  our  happiness.  God  has 
held  out  the  hope  of  reward,  both  in  this  world  and  in  that 
which  is  to  come,  as  the  chief  inducement  for  us  to  love  him 
and  obey  his  commandments.  I  do  not  call  it  selfishness 
when  we  act  according  to  the  highest  principles  of  morality 
for  the  sake  of  experiencing  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  right.  A  selfish  person  is  one  who,  to  gratify  his  de- 
sires, does  not  stop  to  perform  mean,  unkind,  or  criminal 
deeds.  And  I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  saying  that 
there  are  not  noble  men  and  women,  who  perform  deeds  of 
the  most  pure  and  self-denying  character,  and  which  appar- 
ently plunge  them  into  otter  wretchedness ;  but  even  in  these 
cases  there  is  doubtless  always  experienced  the  sweet  pleas- 
ure, though  it  may  be  a  melancholy  one,  which  arises  from 
the  consciousness  of  having  done  right,  and  which  is  more 
than  a  recompense  for  any  material  misfortunes." 

"  You  do  not  know  how  much  consolation  your  words 
afford  me,"  said  Severne,  "even  though  I  cannot  entirely 
shake  off  the  idea  that  I  am  much  more  of  a  selfish  than 
a  benevolent  individual.  Ah,  Miss  Leslie,  those  who  are 
gifted  as  you  are,  with  youth  and  gentleness  and  purity,  can- 
not take  the  hard,  cold  view  of  their  duties  which  is  forced 
upon  those  others  who  have  experienced  the  hollowness  and 


182  ROBERT    8EVERNE. 

weakness  of  their  own  hearts.  I  can  remember  when  I 
thought  as  you  do ;  when  I  was  impelled  to  do  what  I  con- 
ceived to  be  right,  because  my  heart  approved  it.  Now  I 
must  reason  about  it  and  satisfy  my  mind,  and  when,  as  in 
this  instance  of  Sarah  Tompkins,  I  act  mainly  for  my  own 
gratification,  my  intellect  declares  that  I  am  moved  by  the 
lowest  of  all  motives — self-love  !  When  you  tell  me  that 
the  inducement  is  not  a  base  one,  you  give  me,  as  it  were, 
your  approval,  and  this  is  very  dear  to  me.  Do  not  be  sur- 
prised or  offended  at  what  I  say.  I  have  not  for  many 
years  conversed  with  any  woman  so  frankly  as  I  have  with 
you  this  morning,  nor  have  I  encountered  one  who  has 
spoken  to  me  so  honestly,  and  at  the  same  time  with  so  much 
sound  judgment.  The  good  opinion  of  such  as  you  are  is 
worth  to  me  more  than  all  the  encomiums  I  can  give  my- 
self." 

"  You  overrate  the  importance  of  what  I  have  said.  I  do 
not  pretend  to  understand  the  subject  as  you  do,  and  spoke 
solely  from  the  dictates  of  my  own  heart.  You  know  we 
cannot  always  trust  ourselves  that  they  are  right,  because  we 
very  rarely  get  them  without  their  having  been  more  or  less 
influenced  by  extraneous  causes.  I  can  only  speak  for  my- 
self, and  I  know  there  is  no  pleasure  to  me  like  that  which 
proceeds  from  the  knowledge  that  I  have  done  right;  and  it 
is  the  certainty  that  I  will  experience  this  pleasure,  and  the 
hope  of  happiness  hereafter,  which  are  my  greatest  incen- 
tives to  try  to  do  my  best  in  the  life  to  which  God  has  called 
me.  As  to  my  approval  of  your  motives,  Mr.  Severne,  I 
am  afraid  you  place  a  higher  value  upon  it  than  is  just.  I 
am  sure,  however,  I  should  be  doing  you  great  injustice  if  I 
did  not  appreciate,  as  they  deserve,  your  generous  intentions 
toward  Sarah." 

"And  this  assurance  that  you  are  pleased  is  a  greater 
gratification  to  me  than  any  I  have  yet  experienced.  Do 
you  never  regulate  your  actions  in  accordance  with  the 
wishes  of  your  friends,  and  do  such  things  as  you  know  will 
cause  them  pleasure  or  save  them  pain  ?" 

"  Often — constantly.  To  see  the  happiness  of  those  who 
are  dear  to  me  is  one  of  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  my  own 
enjoyment.  But  I  do  not  think  I  would  act  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  give  them  pleasure  at  the  expense  of  my  sense  of 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  183 

what  is  right.  I  could  make  myself  miserable  for  their  sake, 
and  feel  the  delight  of  self-sacrifice,  but  I  could  not  render 
myself  criminal  for  them.  The  consciousness  that  I  had 
been  wicked  would  always  be  present  in  my  mind." 

"Yon  are  right,  Miss  Leslie.  You  have  recognized  a 
distinction  which  I  ana  afraid  is  often  overlooked.  We 
always  experience  pleasure  when  we  sacrifice  our  own  hap- 
piness for  that  of  our  friends ;  but  we  cannot  obtain  this 
consolation  if  we  commit  acts  which  are  essentially  wrong 
to  gratify  them." 

"I  think, "said  Margaret,  musingly,  "that  we  should  love 
our  friends  better  than  ourselves.  It  is  only  when  we  do 
this  that  self-sacrifice  is  possible ;  with  most  of  us  that  god- 
like faculty  which  prompts  to  the  disregard  of  self  for  the 
benefit  of  our  enemies  is  possessed  by  very  few,  and  even 
when  we  exercise  it  we  are  perhaps  often  urged  to  do  so 
for  the  purpose  of  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  their  heads.  I 
think  it  is  somewhat  contrary  to  the  nature  of  our  humanity 
to  love  those  who  hate  us,  better  than  we  do  ourselves." 

As  Margaret  ceased  speaking,  Severne  held  out  his  hand 
to  her  and  said  :  "  I  am  sorry  that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to 
go,  but  I  have  an  appointment  I  must  keep.  Your  grand- 
father and  I  have  been  friends  for  many  years,  and  I  trust 
the  fact  will  have  some  weight  with  you  in  determining 
whether  or  not  you  will  count  me  among  the  number  of  those 
you  like.  I  am  a  good  deal  older  than  you  are,  my  dear 
Miss  Leslie,  and  have  seen  many  more  phases  of  life  than 
I  trust  you  will  ever  experience.  I  have  witnessed  false- 
hood, and  deceit,  and  wickedness  of  all  kinds  triumph  over 
the  right.  I  have  been  misled  by  the  hypocrisy  of  those 
who  called  themselves  my  friends,  and  have  suffered  from 
their  treacherous  and  time-serving  acts.  I  was  once  as 
trustful  as  you  are  now,  and  if  I  have  lost  much  of  my  faith 
m  human  nature,  I  have  not  done  so  without  ample  cause. 
But  you  have  instilled  into  me  to-day  hopes  and  feelings 
which  have  long  been  strangers  to  me.  1  cannot  tell  why 
this  is  so.  It  is  not  so  much  on  account  of  what  you  have 
said,  for  I  have  gone  over  the  same  ground  with  a  great 
deal  more  thoroughness  than  I  should  like  yon  to  give  to  it. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  perceived  that  you  were  speak- 
ing your  real  opinions,  undisguised  by  any  fear  of  what 


184  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

might  be  thought  of  them.  I  am  going  away  in  a  short 
time,  but  I  trust  you  will  give  me  many  opportunities  be- 
fore iny  departure  for  renewing  the  most  pleasing  associa- 
tion of  my  life." 

This  was  a  great  deal  for  Severne  to  say  on  so  very  short 
an  acquaintance ;  but  why  should  he  not  express  his  real 
thoughts  to  the  granddaughter  of  his  old  friend  ?  It  was 
the  most  pleasing  association  of  his  life.  He  had  never  be- 
fore met  with  man  or  woman  who  had  so  impressed  him  as 
had  Margaret  Leslie,  and  he  felt  that  every  day  and  hour 
would  add  to  the  emotion  she  had  aroused.  Why,  then, 
should  he  attempt  to  conceal  now  what  sooner  or  later  she 
would  discover  for  herself,  if  she  had  not  already  done  so  ? 
Did  he  love  her  ?  Not  yet ;  Robert  Severne  was  not  a 
man  to  fall  in  love  at  first  sight.  Such  was  not  therefore 
the  emotion  he  experienced,  but  it  was  that  dreamy,  unpas- 
sionate,  yet  rapturous  feeling,  full  of  vague  apprehension 
and  ill-defined  hope,  which  creeps  into  the  heart,  and  making 
it  tremulous  with  its  swelling  transports,  heralds  the  ap- 
proach of  that  more  radiant  and  sacred  passion  before  which 
all  others  fade  into  insignificance. 

Margaret  blushed  as  she  listened  to  Severne's  words,  be- 
cause she  was  pleased  with  them ;  and  conscious  that  she 
was  unable  to  conceal  ner  feeling,  she  gave  him  her  hand 
and  said,  while  a  sweet  smile  played  over  her  countenance : 

"It  would  be  very  strange  if  my  grandfather's  house  were 
not  always  open  to  one  whom  he  esteems  so  highly,  and  I 
did  not  do  all  in  my  power  to  make  his  visits  pleasant. 
And  if,"  she  added,  with  a  grave  manner,  "  I  have  been 
able  in  any  way  to  lighten  the  sad  memories  of  other  days 
and  to  cause  you  to  take  renewed  hope  for  the  future,  the 
joy  is  not  all  yours.  It  is  not  much  I  can  do  to  increase 
the  happiness  of  others,  but  I  have  never  willfully  withheld 
that  little  when  it  was  right  to  give  it." 

He  let  her  hand  drop  and  said,  while  he  looked  steadily 
into  her  face  :  "You  are  very  kind,  and  I  shall  not  forget 
what  you  have  said.  There  are  times  when  more  than  at 
others  I  feel  the  want  of  some  one  who  will  not  be  wearied 
with  ray  presence  and  conversation  ;  and  then,  if  you  will 
let  me,  I  will  come  to  yon.  And  in  regard  to  Sarah,  may 
I  not  rely  upon  you  for  that  aid  which"Vill  not  only  insure 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  185 

the  success  of  my  plans,  but  add  to  her  happiness  ?  I  agree 
with  her  entirely  in  the  opinion  which  I  think  she  enter- 
tains, that  for  the  present  you  should  not  be  much  with  her. 
She  knows  her  failings,  and  that  knowledge  makes  their 
cure  all  the  more  easy.  After  awhile  I  shall  ask  your  ad- 
vice on  many  points,  and  with  that  and  the  advantage  of 
association  with  you,  I  am  sure  all  will  go  well  with  her. 
For  a  day  or  two  I  must  ask  you  to  take  care  of  her,  as  my 
bachelor  home  is  not  yet  prepared  to  receive  her." 

Margaret  promised  him  all  he  asked  relative  to  Sarah, 
aud  Severne,  plucking  a  rose-bud,  unperceived  by  her,  from 
a  flower-stand  which  stood  in  the  window,  left  the  room. 

"I  am  not  very  strong  on  romance,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  put  the  flower  into  his  pocket  and  emerged  from  the 
house  into  the  street, "  but  I  will  keep  this  as  long  as  I  live 
in  memory  of  the  happiest  day  I  have  passed  for  many 
years." 

And  Margaret,  after  he  had  gone,  continued  to  stand  in 
the  bay-window  for  several  minutes,  thinking  of  what  he 
had  said.  Then  she  bent  over  the  flowers  and  tried  to 
imagine  that  they  required  immediate  care.  She  busied 
herself  for  a  few  moments  in  arranging  the  tendrils,  and  with 
a  little  silver  trowel  loosening  the  earth  around  the  roots, 
but  her  mind  was  too  much  preoccupied  for  her  to  continue 
to  deceive  herself. 

"I  wonder  why  he  is  unhappy?"  she  thought,  as  a 
tear  fell  upon  her  hand.  "  He*  is  so  noble,  and  kind,  and 
generous,  that  I  cannot  conceive  why  he  should  have  any 
enemies  such  as  he  spoke  of.  They  must  be  very  wicked. 
I  wish  I  could  make  him  happy.  But  what  can  I  do?  He 
knows  so  much  more  than  I  do,  that  doubtless  he  has  tried 
every  means  already.  And  yet  he  said  I  had  given  him 
some  consolation  ! 

"  He  is  very  different  from  any  man  I  ever  met  before. 
I  am  sure  I  shall  like  him  very  much.  I  do  like  him  now. 
He  is  grandpapa's  friend,  and  that  is  sufficient  reason  why  I 
should  like  him.  And  then  he  is  so  kind  to  poor  Sarah, 
and  then — and  then  there  are  a  good  many  other  reasons. 

"  I  am  sorry  he  is  going  away  so  soon.  I  should  like  to 
see  a  great  deal  of  him.  Perhaps,  however,  travel  will 

n 


186  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

make  him  happier  by  bringing  before  him  new  scenes  and 
new  associations,  and  then  I  shall  be  very  glad. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  wrong  for  me  to  think  of  him 
so  much.  If  he  was  not  thoroughly  good,  grandpapa 
would  not  like  him,  or  let  him  visit  at  the  house.  Grand- 
papa left  him  here  with  me,  and  that  is  sufficient,  and  last 
night  he  said  that  Robert  Severne  was  a  true  gentleman, 
one  of  the  first  among  all  he  had  ever  known.  I  have 
never  heard  him  say  as  much  of  any  one  before,  except  Mr. 
Goodall. 

"  I  am  glad  he  likes  me.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  liked 
by  one  whom  you  can  respect  and  like  in  return.  I  do  not 
know  why  he  should  think  of  me  as  a  friend,  when  there 
must  be  so  many  others  who  are  more  worthy  of  his  appre- 
ciation. It  cannot  be  merely  because  I  spoke  as  I  thought. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  so  strange.  How  much  falsehood 
and  insincerity  he  must  have  encountered  to  imagine  for  a 
moment  that  I  would  try  to  deceive  him  ! 

"  I  hope  Sarah  will  like  him.  Poor  girl !  what  a  life  she 
must  have  led  !  I  would  rather  have  the  consciousness  of 
having  done  for  her  what  Mr.  Severne  is  doing  than  wear 
the  crown  of  a  queen." 

Margaret  raised  herself  to  her  full  height  as  she  spoke 
these  words ;  her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  the  emotion  the  idea  excited.  It  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, however,  but  in  that  moment  the  beauty  which  every 
noble  thought  excites  in  proportion  to  the  intensity  with 
which  it  is  experienced,  flashed  over  her  countenance,  and 
gave  additional  life  to  a  loveliness  which  never  wanted  vi- 
tality, even  in  her  most  quiet  periods. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  as  she  left  the  bay-window  and  passed 
through  the  parlor  to  the  hall,  "that  Sarah  must  feel  lonely. 
I  have  been  away  from  her  more  than  an  hour.  By  this 
time  she  has  doubtless  fully  comprehended  Mr.  Severne's 
propositions,  and  it  is  not  well  to  leave  her  too  much  alone 
when  everything  about  her  is  so  novel.  How  very  ladylike 
and  modest  her  demeanor  has  been  since  she  came  here  I" 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  1ST 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WHAT    BROTHER   JENKINS    AND    MRS.  WIGGINS    SAID    AND    DID. 

SEVERNE  had  scarcely  entered  his  library,  and  begun 
to  look  over  some  papers,  when  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  an- 
nounced. He  directed  her  to  be  shown  up,  and  in  a  few 
moments  that  lady  entered  the  room.  She  was  evidently  in 
a  condition  of  great  excitement,  her  face,  never  very  pale, 
was  now  preternaturally  red  ;  her  hair  was  in  disorder,  and 
her  breath  came  and  went  with  a  rapidity  and  a  force  which, 
while  they  argued  well  for  the  integrity  of  her  respiratory 
muscles,  showed  at  the  same  time  how  great  had  been  her 
recent  physical  exertion,  and  how  intense  was  now  the  men- 
tal excitement  under  which  she  labored. 

The  state  of  her  toilet  was  evidence  either  of  great  haste 
in  leaving  her  domicile,  or  of  a  contest  with  some  energetic 
person  who  had  disputed  with  her  for  the  possession  of 
several  of  the  articles  of  which  it  was  composed.  Her  bon- 
net occupied  but  one  side  of  her  head,  her  frock  was  open  be- 
hind, one  of  her  stockings  had  settled  from  its  usual  elevated 
position  into  a  mere  ring,  which  encircled  her  not  very  deli- 
cate ankle,  and  she  had  put  her  feet  into  shoes  belonging  to 
two  different  pairs. 

But  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  not  alone.  A  tall,  very  thin,  and 
dyspeptic-looking  man  accompanied  her,  whom  she  immedi- 
ately introduced  to  Severne  as  Brother' Jenkins.  Brother 
Jenkins  crossed  his  large,  bony  hands  behind  his  back,  and 
inclined  the  upper  part  of  his  lank  body  toward  Severne,  in 
what  he  intended  to  be  a  bow,  while  at  the  same  time  his 
arms  fell  into  a  sort  of  paralytic  condition,  assuming  a  line, 
which,  if  carried  out,  would  have  connected  his  shoulders 
with  a  point  situated  about  twelve  inches  in  front  of  his  feet, 
and  his  eyes,  which  bore  no  very  indistinct  resemblance  to 
two  balls  of  pipe-clay,  described  an  arc  of  a  circle,  of  which 
the  center  of  the  ceiling  and  the  extremity  of  his  boots  were 
the  limiting  points.  Brother  Jenkins  then  ran  his  hands 


188  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

through  his  hair,  which  was  very  black,  very  long,  and  worn 
behind  his  ears,  and  without  waiting  to  be  invited,  dropped 
into  the  most  convenient  seat  he  could  perceive. 

"I've  come,  sir,  as  I  said  I  would,  to  tell  you  all  about 
Sal  Tompkins,"  she  began,  as  soon  as  in  compliance  with 
Severne's  request  she  had  seated  herself.  "  This  mornin', 
my  old  man,  John  Wiggins,  as  used  to  be  in  the  shoemakin' 
business,  says, '  Mary,'  says  he,  '  I  had  a  dream  last  night  of 
a  white  rat,  and  whenever  I  dreams  of  a  white  rat,  there's 
always  somethin'  goes  wrong.  Once  I  dreamt  about  a 
white  rat,  and  Jim  Johnson's  wife  got  drowned,  and  once 
more,  Marthy  fell  down  stairs  and  sprained  her  wrist,  and 
once  more,  the  Baptist  Church  in  Hightsville  burnt  down, 
and  once  more,  the  price  of  leather  went  up  twenty-five 
cents  on  the  pound,  and  ouce  more,  Mrs.  McAlpine's  baby 
was  born  with  a  club-foot,  so  I'm  certain,'  says  he,  '  things 
is  not  right.'  I  took  the  Sun,  and  I  looked  all  through  it, 
and  says  I,  '  Wiggins,'  says  I,  '  there  was  a  fire  last  night  in 
Nassau  Street,  and  a  man  was  knocked  down  in  Broadway, 
and  a  house  was  struck  bylightnin'  in  Boston,  and  the  Phil- 
adelphy  train  didn't  get  in  till  twelve  o'clock,  and  there  was 
a  murder  in  Wayne  Street  at  Number  110,  and  a  burglary 

at '   '  You  need  not  read  any  more,  Mary,'  says  Wiggins, 

'for  I  guess  that  murder  is  the  particular  thing  that's  gone 
wrong.'  And  then  I  bethought  me  of  Sal,  for  I  had  found 
out  that  she  lived  in  Wayne  Street,  and  says  I,  '  I'll  go  round 
there  right  away  after  breakfast,'  and  then  as  I  was  thinkin', 
for  I  hadn't  got  out  of  bed  yet,  it  struck  me  that  mayhaps 
Sal  was  a  welterin'  in  her  gore,  and  says  I,  '  Wiggins,'  says 
I,  'I  can't  stand  this  no  longer;  I'm  goin'  round  to  Wayne 
Street  now,'  So  I  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  hurried  on  my 
clothes,  and  round  I  started. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see,"  continued  Mrs.  Wiggins,  stopping 
for  a  moment  to  recruit  her  almost  exhausted  breath,  "just 
as  I  turned  our  corner,  who  should  I  see  but  Brother  Jen- 
kins, as  is  sittin'  in  that  chair,  and  says  I,  '  Brother  Jenkins, 
there's  been  a  awful  murder.'  'Where,  sister?'  says  he. 
'  Murders  is  of  this  world,  worldly,  and  we  are  told  that 
there  shall  be  wars  and  rumors  of  wars,  before  the  final 
comin'  of  the  King  of  Glory,  and  murders  is  wars  on  a  small 
scale.'  Wasn't  that  just  what  you  said,  Brother  Jenkins  ?" 


ROBERT    SE  VERNE.  189 

Thus  addressed,  Brother  Jenkins  again  ran  his  long 
fingers  through  his  hair,  and  rolling  his  eyes  up  to  the  ceil- 
ing, said,  with  a  strong  nasal  twang  : 

"  Sister  Mary,  and  you,  sir,  that  was  it.  I  always  try  to 
adapt  ray  language  to  the  particular  circumstances  of  the 
case.  I  believe  in  spiritual  gifts  more  than  in  human  learn- 
ing, because  one  comes  from  God,  and  the  other  is  the  off- 
spring of  man's  sinful  devices.  I  have  always  had  a  natural 
gift  of  interpretation  of  Scripture,  and  I  do  it  through  the 
signs  of  the  times,  which  are  full  of  awful  import  to  those 
Christians  who  stand  in  the  white  robes  of  righteousness 
waiting  for  the  coming  of  the  Lord." 

Severne  was  intensely  amused,  but  preserving  as  grave  a 
countenance  as  possible,  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Wiggins,  and  re- 
quested her  to  resume  her  narrative. 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  that  lady,  "  Brother  Jenkins  said 
he  would  go  with  me,  'For,'  says  he,  'perhaps  the  poor 
creature's  not  quite  dead  yet,  and  may  want  a  little  religious 
consolation;'  and  says  I,  'True,'  says  I,  and  we  went  to- 
gether. 

"And  when  we  got  to  the  house,  Brother  Jenkins  says, 
says  he  to  the  policeman  at  the  door,  '  Can  we  go  up  ?  this 
lady  is  a  friend  of  the  murdered  woman,  and  I'm  a  minister 
of  the  Gospel.'  And  says  he  nothing,  but  only  nodded  his 
head.  And  then  we  went  up  stairs,  and  says  I  to  another 
policeman,  says  I, '  Where's  the  murdered  Sarah  ?'  and  says 
he,  '  There's  no  murdered  Sarah  here,  nor  has  been.'  And 
says  I,  'Who  is  murdered?'  And  says  he,  'A  woman, 
named  Betsey,  and  the  coroner's  a  sittin'  on  her  now  with  a 
jury.'  I  didn't  know  nothin'  about  no  Betsey,  but  we  went 
in,  and  there  she  laid  on  a  bed,  a  bottle  of  pizen  in  her 
hands,  and  the  jury  had  just  found  as  it  was  no  murder  but 
a  suicide.  And  says  Brother  Jenkins,  says  he,  '  My  friends, 
this  is  a  awful  occasion,  and  perhaps  a  few  remarks  will  not 
be  out  of  place.'" 

"I  think,  Sister  Mary,"  said  Brother  Jenkins,  clearing 
his  throat  and  wiping  his  face  with  a  scriptural  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, upon  which  were  printed  various  scenes  described 
in  the  Book  of  Revelations, — "I  think  it  will  be  more  to  the 
edification  of  our  friend,  if  I  should  in  a  few  brief  words  re- 
peat the  discourse  which  I  commenced,  but  through  the 

17* 


190  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

wicked  interference  of  the  minions  of  Satan  was  not  allowed 
to  complete.  Would  you  like  to  hear  it,  my  brother  ?  It 
is  short  and  may  prove  comforting." 

Thus  addressed,  Severne,  who  was  enjoying  the  adventure 
with  a  zest  he  had  not  given  to  anything  amusing  for  many 
a  day,  replied  in  the  affirmative ;  and  Brother  Jenkins, 
again  adjusting  his  hair  with  his  fingers,  rose  from  his  chair, 
stuck  his  hands  under  the  tail  of  his  coat,  and  thus  spoke  : 

"My  friends,  we  find  it  said  in  the  Book  of  Revelations, 
in  the  ninth  chapter  and  sixth  verse,  as  follows : 

"  'And  in  those  days  shall  men  seek  death,  and  shall  not 
find  it;  and  shall  desire  to  die,  and  death  shall  flee  from 
them.' 

"Many  of  you,  my  brethren,  might  take  this  in  a  too 
literal  sense,  and  imagine  that  because  this  our  sister  has 
found  death,  it  was  a  proof  that  the  coming  of  our  Lord 
was  not  at  hand.  I  do  not  blame  you  for  such  an  opinion, 
for  all  are  not  endowed  with  the  gift  of  interpreting  pro- 
phecy. For  it  is  written,  'Many  are  called  but  few  chosen.' 
But  what  is  this  our  text,  my  brethren  ?  Is  it  not  '  For  in 
those  days  men  shall  seek  death,  and  shall  not  find  it.'  It 
does  not  say  women,  my  brethren, — oh,  no  !  and  in  that  fact 
we  have  a  most  remarkable  coincidence  between  prophecy 
and  the  facts  of  the  case  before  us.  A  woman  has  found  death 
after  seeking  for  it.  How  did  she  seek  for  it  ? — with  a  sword  ? 
Oh,  no  !  With  a  rifle?  Oh,  no  !  With  a  Colt's  revolver? 
Oh,  no  !  With  a  club  ?  Oh,  no  !  With  water  or  with  fire  ? 
Oh,  no  !  Many  poor  brothers  and  sisters  have  sought  death 
by  all  these  means;  and  one  of  the  best  of  them  is  a  Colt's 
revolver  with  all  the  barrels  loaded,  because  if  one  fails, 
there  are  five  more  chances  left.  And  charcoal  is  a  good 
means,  and  I  have  known  it  to  be  used  with  great  power 
and  ease;  but  this  our  sister,  for  reasons  known  to  herself, 
as  our  brethren,  the  coroner's  jury,  have  just  told  us,  chose 
to  seek  death  with  a  bottle  of  laudanum. 

"A  bottle  of  laudanum !  What  is  laudanum  ?  I  hear 
some  of  you  say.  It  is  a  medicine,  my  brethren,  which  is 
not  without  its  virtues.  It  is  good  for  the  colic  and  the 
cholera  and  the  bowel  complaint,  and  divers  other  of  the 
diseases  with  which  it  pleases  God  to  afflict  us  for  our  sins. 
I  have  tried  it  in  many  disorders,  my  friends,  and  I  speak 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  191 

what  I  do  know,  and  testify  what  I  have  seen.  My  friend, 
Dr.  Snaffle,  puts  it  into  his  compound  cure-all,  which  is 
an  excellent  remedy  for  all  diseases,  and  which  you  can  get 
for  only  fifty  cents  a  bottle.  I  recommend  it  to  all  my  flock  ; 
and  Dr.  Snaffle  offered  me  twenty  per  cent,  on  all  the  sales 
he  made  through  me,  but  I  did  not  say  1  would  take  it. 

"But  laudanum  is  a  sleep-producing  article,  and  here  it 
has  caused  the  sleep  of  death.  A  small  quantity  is  good, 
but  a  large  quantity  is  bad,  and  causes  the  separation  of  the 
soul  from  this  mass  of  corruption  which  we  call  our  body. 

"And  where  does  the  soul  go?  Ah,  my  brethren!  — 
where  does  it  go  ?  Where  has  the  soul  of  our  sister  gone? 
Let  -us  look  around  us  a  little  before  we  answer  that  ques- 
tion. Was  our  sister  a  sister  of  the  Lord?  Alas,  my  breth- 
ren, I  fear  not !  Was  she  brought  up  in  our  Zion  ?  Alas, 
no !  Did  she  believe  in  the  speedy  coming  of  our  Lord  ? 
Alas,  no  !  Did  she  aid  in  spreading  the  Gospel  ?  Alas,  no ! 
Did  she  put  her  trust  in  God  ?  Alas,  no  !  Then,  my  breth- 
ren, where  is  her  soul?  Alas,  it  is  with  the  devil  and  his 
angels,  where  it  will  remain  forever  and  ever  swimming  in 
a  lake  of  melted  sulphur! 

"  I  had  got  this  far,  my  brother  and  sister,"  said  Brother 
Jenkins,  lowering  his  voice,  "and  was  about  to  describe  in 
detail  the  bottomless  pit,  when  one  of  the  servants  of  Satan, 
clothed  as  a  policeman,  came  up  to  me  and  said  : 

"  '  Come,  there's  been  enough  of  this.' 

" '  Enough  of  the  Gospel  ?  Do  you  not  know,  my  brother,' 
I  replied,  'that  if  I  was  to  speak  here  till  doomsday,  I  could 
not  give  you  enough  of  the  Gospel?' 

"'I  know  this,'  said  he,  'that  you've  got  to  clear  out.' 

'"I  will  let  you  know  who  I  am,'  I  answered;  '1  shall 
mention  this  next  Sunday  to  my  flock.' 

'"  Who  are  you,  anyhow?'  be  said. 

" '  I  am  a  servant  of  the  Lord  my  Master,'  I  replied,  'and 
ray  name  is  Jenkins.' 

'"Well,  Mr.  Jenkins,'  he  said,  'if  you  don't  leave  this 
room  at  once,  I'll  take  you  to  the  station-house.' 

"  I  declined  to  do  so,  and  then  he,  with  three  others,  laid 
violent  hands  on  me,  and  with  many  sinful  exclamations 
took  me  to  the  place  they  called  the  station-house,  when  I 
was  fined  five  dollars  for  obstructing  the  officers  in  the  dis- 


192  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

charge  of  their  duty — so  the  son  of  Belial  said  who^satupon 
the  bench.  I  gave  him  my  views  about  his  ungodly  con- 
duct, and  then  he  fined  me  ten  dollars  more,  and  said  that  if 
I  should  open  my  mouth  again,  he  would  send  me  to  Black- 
well's  Island  for  thirty  days.  I  saw  I  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Philistines,  and  so  I  paid  the  fifteen  dollars  and  came 
away." 

"A  very  satisfactory  termination  I  should  say  of  the 
whole  affair,"  said  Severne,  whose  amusement,  as  the  rev- 
erend brother  proceeded  with  his  discourse,  had  changed  to 
disgust.  "Why  could  you  riot  refrain  from  such  conduct 
at  the  death-bed  of  the  poor  woman  who,  for  all  you  know, 
died  with  her  sins  forgiven  ?" 

"Ah,  my  brother,  you  little  know  the  ways  of  this  wicked 
world,  if  you  think  she  was  of  the  kind  that  humble  them- 
selves before  their  Maker  !  Besides,  it  was  my  duty  to  do 
my  Master's  work,  and  to  improve  the  opportunity  to  the 
advantage  of  the  godless  people  who  were  assembled  there. 
I  did  not  finish  my  discourse;  for  besides  pointing  out  the 
terrors  in  store  for  the  damned,  I  had  to  make  the  applica- 
tion of  my  text  to  the  most  important  point,  the  coming  of 
the  King  of  Glory.  Now,  my  brother,  I  do  not  believe  you 
see  the  nature  of  my  argument." 

"No;  nor  do  I  wish  to.  I  think  it  more  than  probable, 
from  all  I  have  heard,  that  Betsey,  as  she  was  called,  will 
meet  with  more  favor  from  her  God  than  will  such  persons 
as  you." 

"  My  brother,  I  know  it  is  my  duty  to  forgive  you,  and 
I  do.  I  hope  God  will  pardon  you,  too,  for  insulting  one 
of  his  servants.  I  would  like  to  explain  to  you  that  as  it 
is  said  in  the  text  men  shall  seek  death  and  shall  not  find 
it,  we  are  justified,  by  all  the  rules  of  exegetical  reasoning, 
in  assuming  that  when  women  seek  it,  about  the  time  of  the 
coming  of  our  Lord,  they  shall  find-it.  But  I  refrain,  my 
brother,  'Cast  not  your  pearls  before  swine.'  I  mean  no- 
thing insulting.  I  have  been  well  brought  up  and  educated, 
and  though  I  despise  all  gifts  that  do  not  come  from  on 
high " 

"If  you  will  be  silent,  and  allow  Mrs.  Wiggins  to  go  on 
with  what  she  has  to  say,  I  will  be  much  obliged  to  you," 
said  Severne,  who  was  getting  tired  of  the  man  and  his 
cant. 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  193 

"Yes,  ray  brother,  I  will  be  silent,  and  pray  to  God  to 
change  your  heart."  And  thus  again  obtaining  a  hearing, 
Mrs.  Wiggins  resumed : 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see  while  Brother  Jenkins  was  a  preachin' 
I  was  lookin'  around,  not  but  what  I  was  listenin',  too,  and 
learnin'  every  blessed  word ;  and  I  looked  in  the  poor  thing's 
trunks  and  closets,  because,  you  know,  sir,  says  I  to  myself, 
'  Maybe  there  might  be  somethin'  as  would  tell  who  she 
was,'  but  I  only  found  a  few  pictures  and  two  or  three  books, 
and  such  like.  And  I  was  begmnin'to  despair,  when  all  at 
once  it  struck  me  all  of  a  heap-like  that  1  knew  that  room  ; 
and  when  I  came  to  think  about  it  I  remembered  that  it 
was  the  very  one  Julia  Tompkius,  Sal's  mother,  used  to  live 
in.  And  then  I  recollected  that  one  day  when  I  went  there 
to  talk  to  Julia  about  Sal,  who  was  to  come  to  us,  I  opened 
the  door  all  of  a  sudden-like,  and  there  was  Julia  puttin' 
some  things  under  a  brick  of  the  hearth.  And  I  went  home, 
and  says  I,  'John, 'says  I,  'do  honest  women  hide  letters 
and  such  like  under  the  hearth  ?'  And  says  he,  '  Mary,' 
says  he,  '  they  does  whatever  they  wants  to,  be  they  honest 
or  be  they  not.'  And  then  says  I,  'I  saw  Julia  Tornpkins 
a  hidin'  letters  and  things  under  a  brick.'  And  says  he, 
'  Mary,'  says  he,  '  I  guess  you'd  better  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness.' Which  I  did — rememberin'  my  marriage  promises, 
which  is  always  harder  on  women  than  on  men — and  never 
thought  no  more  about  it  till  this  mornin'." 

ISeverne's  interest  was  aroused  by  this  new  revelation  of 
Mrs.  Wiggins,  but  he  knew  from  experience  how  useless  it 
would  be  to  attempt  to  cut  short  her  circumlocutory  method 
of  telling  her  story,  so  he  waited  patiently  for  the  expected 
denouement.  It  was  all  evidently  new  to  Brother  Jenkins 
also,  for  that  worthy  gentleman  opened  his  eyes  wider,  ele- 
vated his  eyebrows,  and  contorted  his  face  in  a  manner  that 
was  frightful  to  behold.  He  was  about  to  give  utterance 
to  his  feelings,  but  a  look  and  a  gesture  from  Severne  re- 
strained him,  and  Mrs.  Wiggins,  having  drunk  off  a  tumbler 
of  water  which  stood  by  her  on  the  table,  resumed  hep  nar- 
rative. 

"Well,  sir,  you  see  I  looked  for  that  brick.  There  it  was 
just  as  Julia  had  left  it,  I  guessed  ;  I  pressed  my  foot  against 
it  and  I  found  it  was  loose.  It  was  just  at  the  time  Brother 


194  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

Jenkins  was  bein'  persecuted  by  the  policemen  ;  I  stooped 
down,  coverin'  it  with  ray  frock,  and  lifted  it  up  without  no 
sort  of  trouble,  and  there  was  a  little  tin  box,  which  I  put 
into  my  pocket  right  off.  I  thought  I  had  seen  that  box 
before,  sir,  and  I  thinks  so  still,  much  to  my  sorrow,  too, 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  Them  as  God  has  joined 
together  let  no  man  put  asunder ;  and  when  Brother  Jenkins 
married  me  and  John  Wiggins,  nigh  on  to  twenty  year  ago, 
I  promised  to  do  my  duty  by  him,  and  whether  he  has  done 
his  towards  me  will  be  known  in  the  great  day  when  the 
sea  shall  give  up  its  dead  and  the  dry  land  likewise.  That 
is  supposiu',  of  course,  sir,  my  suspicions  is  correct,  for  you 
see,  sir,  John  always  had  a  hankerin'  after  Julia  Tompkins, 
and  me,  his  lawful  wife,  always  doin'  my  duty  by  him  a 
mendin'  of  his  clothes  and  a  cookin'  of  his  victuals,  night 
and  day,  and  all  because  her  feet  was  small,  as  if  I  made  my 
feet,  which  I  didn't,  God  knows." 

The  subject  was  so  heart-rending  that  Mrs.  Wiggins  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  sobbed  in  the  most  despairing 
manner. 

Severne  endeavored  to  comfort  her,  but  without  success ; 
and  turning  to  Brother  Jenkins,  who,  since  his  recent  snub- 
bing, had  preserved  a  discreet  silence,  he  asked  him  to  en- 
deavor to  restore  Mrs.  Wiggins  to  a  condition  of  equa- 
nimity. 

Brother  Jenkins  received  the  proposal  with  every  mark 
of  pleasure,  and  going  to  the  disconsolate  female,  knelt  by 
her  side,  and  taking  her  by  the  hand  said,  in  his  sepulchral 
though  nasal  voice  : 

"  Sister  Wiggins,  do  you  love  the  Lord  ?" 

"Yes,  Brother  Jenkins,  I  hope  I  do,"  she  sobbed. 

"And  do  you  believe  that  the  hour  draweth  nigh  ?" 

"Yes,  Brother,  I  hope  I  do." 

"  Then  why  should  you  weep  over  the  sorrows  of  this 
wicked  world  when  you  have  laid  up  treasures  in  the  world 
to  come,  where  there  is  neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  mar- 
riage ?" 

Mrs.  Wiggins  being  unable  to  give  a  satisfactory  response 
to  this  question,  or  in  fact  any  answer  at  all,  suddenly  dried 
her  tears  and  prepared  to  continue  the  description  of  her 
adventures,  while  Brother  Jenkins,  looking  triumphantly  at 


ROBERT    SEVERXE.  195 

Severne,  walked  majestically  back  to  his  chair,  which  he 
resumed  with — as  the  novels  would  say — a  dignity  and  grace 
peculiarly  his  own. 

"  I  put  the  box  in  my  pocket,  sir,  as  I  said ;  and  while 
Brother  Jenkins  and  the  policemen  was  a  wranglin' " 

"  Oh,  Sister  Wiggins,  me  wrangling  !"  said  Brother  Jen- 
kins, in  a  deprecatory  tone. 

"  Leastwise  they  was  wranglin',  and  you  was  a  bearin'  of 
it  all,  like  a  lamb  as  has  lost  his  shepherd  and  has  got  among 
wolves.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  I  went  down  stairs  with  my 
box  to  look  for  Sal,  and  I  went  into  her  room,  which  was 
empty,  and  a  policeman,  as  was  very  civil,  Brother  Jenkins, 
and  quite  contrariwise  to  them  as  was  wranglin'  up  stairs, 
told  me,  says  he, '  Sal  went  away  last  night  and  hasn't  come 
back  to  her  room,  and  it  wouldn't  be  at  all  snrprisin'  if  she 
didn't  come  back  at  all,  for  she  was  up  stairs  this  morniu'  a 
givin'  of  her  evidence,  and  there  was  folks  with  her  as  will 
look  out  for  her  hereafter.'  And  says  I,  'What's  their 
names  ?'  And  says  he,  '  One's  named  Mr.  Holmes  and  the 
other's  named  Mr.  Severne,  and  they  came  in  a  carriage 
with  a  big  S  on  it,  and  a  coachman  in  uniform.'  And  says 
I,  '  Is  that  so  ?'  and  says  he,  'As  sure  as  my  name's  Miller,' 
which  it  was,  seein'  as  how  he  used  to  keep  a  cigar  store  in 
Broome  Street.  And  says  I,  '  I  knows  one  of  them.'  And 
says  he,  'Which  one?'  says  he.  And  says  I,  'Mr.  Severne.' 
And  says  he, '  He's  the  one  as  offered  me  ten  dollars  to  stay 
here  and  look  after  things  to-day.'  And  so,  sir,  I  just  held 
on  to  my  box,  and  here  it  is,  sir,  at  your  service,  seein'  as 
how  I  suppose  you  knows  all  about  Sal." 

With  these  last  words,  Mrs.  Wiggins  plunged  her  hand 
into  a  capacious  pocket  in  her  frock,  and  drew  forth  a  tin 
box  about  the  size  of  those  formerly  used  for  Seidlitz  powders, 
but  much  more  neatly  made. 

The  sight  of  it  appeared  about  to  call  up  the  feelings  which 
had  been  so  effectually  subdued  by  Brother  Jenkins,  but 
with  an  effort  she  restrained  herself  and  handed  it  to  Severne, 
merely  remarking  as  she  did  so  : 

"  I  knows  it  too  well,  sir,  by  the  letters  as  is  painted  on 
the  top — J.  W.  He  used  to  keep  buttons  in  it." 

Severne  took  the  box,  and  untied  the  cord  which  was 
wrapped  tightly  around  it.  He  opened  it,  and  finding  it 


196  ROBERT    SBVERNE. 

contained   nothing  but  letters,  he  placed  it  on  his   table, 
intending  to  look  them  over  when  more  at  leisure. 

"And  now,  Mrs.  Wiggins,"  he  said,  "  I  must  express  to 
you  my  thanks  for  all  your  trouble,  and  must  beg  of  you  to 
accept  this  note,  as  an  evidence  of  my  appreciation  of  your 
good  offices.  I  think,  too,  you  need  give  yourself  no  un- 
easiness in  regard  to  Mr.  Wiggins  and  Julia  Tompkins. 
Doubtless  your  husband  merely  admired  her  through  an  ar- 
tistic feeling  very  creditable  to  him,  and  it  is  not  at  all  prob- 
able he  will  ever  have  another  opportunity  of  being  fasci- 
nated by  her.  Besides,  I  am  very  sure  that  he  has  long 
since  found  that  a  good  wife,  like  you,  is  a  man's  best 
friend  !" 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Wiggins, 
as  she  took  the  hundred  dollar  note  which  Severne  handed 
to  her.  "  I've  not  seen  as  much  money  as  this,  sir,  for  many 
a  long  year.  We  was  a  gettin'  hard  up  for  money,  for  you 
see  our  rent  was  due  last  week,  and  there  ain't  much  sewin' 
to  be  done  now,  and  Marthy  doesn't  get  much,  and  as  to 
John,  he  can't  work,  as  you  knows,  and  the  Society  for  the 
Relief  of  Destitute  Families  ain't  a  doin'  much  in  that  way, 
'cause  you  see,  sir,  they  ain't  got  no  money  when  you  goes 
to  them,  notwithstandiu'  all  they  gets.  And  I  ain't  ashamed 
or  afraid  to  work,  for  that's  what  I  expect  to  do,  and  if  you 
ever  wants  any  shirts  made,  or  drawers  either,  or  for  the  mat- 
ter of  that,  any  gentlemen  of  your  acquaintance,  I  hope,  sir, 
you'll  not  forget  as  Mary  AViggins  has  worked  for  the  firm 
of  Goggle  and  Sharp,  as  keeps  the  big  shirt  emporium  in 
Broadway;  and  as  to  Julia  Tompkins,  I  don't  care  for  her, 
and  I  can't  say  as  John  mistreats  me,  for  you  see,  sir,  he  has 
a  hard  time  of  it,  not  able  to  work,  as  was  his  great  pleas- 
ure, and  now  only  able  to  go  about  on  crutches,  which  is 
not  comfortable  for  him  or  for  me.  And  is  Sal  all  right, 
sir?" 

"Yes.  I  intend  to  educate  her,  and  if  I  find  her  to  be  as 
good  a  girl  as  I  think  she  will  prove  to  be,  I  shall  adopt  her 
as  my  daughter.  She  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Wig- 
gins, and  she  says  you  were  always  very  kind  to  her.  As 
to  the  future,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  give  yourself 
no  uneasiness.  I  will  see  that  you  are  in  want  of  nothing 
necessary  for  your  comfort,  and  that  of  your  husband.  I 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  197 

shall  come  and  see  you  in  a  few  days,  and  bring  Sarah 
with  me." 

"  Sal  was  always  a  good  girl  while  she  lived  with  me,  sir, 
and  I  don't  understand  why  she  went  away.  She's  been 
gone  close  on  to  four  year,  and  I'm  glad  things  is  to  be  well 
with  her  in  the  future." 

"Ah,  my  brother,"  sighed  Brother  Jenkins,  who  had  been 
listening  and  looking  on  with  undisguised  astonishment  and 
chagrin,  "be  careful  how  you  cast  your  pearls  before  swine. 
There  are  many  virtuous  and  godly  young  women  in  New 
York  who  would  be  glad  of  a  chance  such  as  that  you  are 
about  to  give  to  this  wanton  and  dissolute  girl,  who  knows 
nothing  about  the  anticipated  coming  of  the  King  of  Glory. 
And  as  to  myself,  my  brother,  I  try  to  do  my  duty  to  my 
people  like  a  good  shepherd,  and  I  think — I  humbly  think  I 
have  succeeded  in  bringing  many  of  them  into  the  true  fold. 
I  expect  to  be  rewarded  hereafter,  my  brother;  for  in  this 
life  there  is  not  much  to  be  had,  notwithstanding  we  are 
told  that  those  who  preach  the  Gospel  shall  live  by  the  Gos- 
pel. You  gave  a  hundred  dollars  for  a  little  box  of  old 
letters, — I  think  it  was  a  hundred,  for  I  saw  a  C  on  the 
note,  but  if  I  am  mistaken,  my  brother,  you  will  correct  me. 
Have  you  nothing  to  give  toward  instructing  the  Apaches 
in  the  doctrines  of  the  New  Light  Millennium  ?  Oh,  my 
brother,  forget  not  the  heathen  in  thy  prosperity." 

"  No,"  replied  Severne,  "  I  have  nothing  to  give  for  any 
such  purpose ;  but  as  you  accompanied  Mrs.  Wiggins,  and 
may  have  been  of  some  service  to  her  in  gaining  admittance 
to  the  room  where  these  letters  were  found,  I  will  give  you 
this  for  yourself.  You  may  give  it  to  the  Apaches  if  you 
choose."  So  saying,  Severne  handed  the  reverend  gentle- 
man a  twenty  dollar  note. 

Brother  Jenkins's  eyes  glistened  with  pleasure  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  money,  which  he  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  put  into  his  pocket-book. 

"  It  is  well,  my  brother,  and  I  thank  you  sincerely.  Some 
other  time,  perhaps,  you  will  give  for  the  spread  of  our  re- 
ligion to  the  poor  Apaches.  Them  you  will  have  always 
with  you,  while,  as  for  me,  a  few  short  and  wearisome  years, 
at  most,  will  see  me  laid  in  my  grave,  where  the  wicked 

18 


198  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest.  Farewell, 
my  brother,"  he  continued,  seeing  that  Mrs.  Wiggins  had 
risen  and  was  ready  to  go,  "farewell.  If  you  should  ever 
wish  for  religious  instruction  or  advice  in  matters  of  faith 
or  doctrine,  I  shall  be  glad  to  serve  you  and  the  Lord  by 
expounding  the  true  principles  of  prophetical  interpreta- 
tion. I  wish  you  well,  my  brother,  I  wish  you  well."  And 
Brother  Jenkins  inclined  the  upper  moiety  of  his  body  so  as 
to  form  with  the  lower  half,  an  angle,  a  little  more  than  a 
right  angle,  and,  with  Mrs.  Wiggins,  took  his  departure. 
The  last  thing  that  met  his  eyes  was  the  little  tin  box  which 
Severne  was  about  to  place  in  his  desk. 

After  Mrs.  Wiggins  and  her  spiritual  adviser  had  got  into 
the  street,  the  latter  turned  to  his  companion,  and  said  : 

"  Sister  Mary,  it  may  be  that  the  Lord  has  endowed  you 
with  more  sense  than  he  ordinarily  gives  to  women,  but  you 
do  not  make  it  very  manifest,  my  sister.  No,  by  no  means. 
You  might  as  well  have  had  five  hundred  dollars  for  that  box 
of  letters  as  one,  and  then  you  would  have  been  able  to  help . 
the  poor  Apaches  and  the  friends  who  are  feeding  you  with 
righteousness.  You  may  do  it  yet,  my  sister,  and  if  my 
feeble  words  have  no  influence  with  you,  pray  for  advice,  and 
you  will  get  it,  as  a  dream  or  a  vision,  which  I  will  interpret 
for  you.  I  should  not  be  surprised,  my  sister,  if  those  let- 
ters were  of  great  value.  You  ought  to  have  told  me  of 
them  before  you  took  them  to  that  scoffer  and  unbeliever. 
It  was  not  right.  There  should  always  be  unlimited  confi- 
dence between  the  shepherd  and  his  flock.  For  without  the 
shepherd  the  flock  would  go  astray  into  the  wilderness  of 
sin.  Think  of  this,  my  sister,  think  of  this!" 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  199 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN    WHICH   CERTAIN    MATTERS    OF    IMPORTANCE    ARE    SETTLED    TO    THE 
SATISFACTION    OF    ALL    CONCERNED. 

As  we  have  seen,  in  the  last  chapter,  Severne  pot  the  tin 
box  of  letters  which  Mrs.  Wiggins  had  given  him  into  his 
desk,  intending  to  look  over  the  papers  that  evening.  He 
had  glanced  at  the  directions  of  some  of  them,  and  had  as- 
certained that  they  were  addressed  to  Miss  Julia  Tompkins, 
the  former  possessor  of  them,  and  he  bad  no  doubt  but  that 
they  would  clear  up  many  points  of  which  he  now  had  either 
very  imperfect  information  or  none  at  all. 

His  thoughts  had  recurred  to  Margaret,  and  he  was  en- 
gaged in  the  pleasing  occupation  of  bringing  her  features 
back  to  his  mind,  when  Wilson  came  into  the  room  and 
handed  him  a  card  on  a  salver. 

Severne  took  it  and  read  the  name. 

"Miss  Grace  Langley,"  he  said;  "verily  I  am  in  luck 
this  morning  as  regards  lady  visitors.  I  do  not  know  this 
one,  but  she  has  a  very  pretty  name.  Ask  Miss  Langley 
to  walk  up,  Wilson — or  stop.  Is  she  in  the  parlor  ?" 

"No,  sir,  she  is  in  the  reception-room." 

"Well,  then,  show  her  into  the  parlor,  and  I  will  join  her 
in  a  moment.  I  don't  think  this  is  a  very  inviting  place 
into  which  to  ask  a  lady  to  come,"  he  continued  to  himself. 
"  There  is  too  much  of  the  shop  about  it." 

The  step  which  Grace  had  resolved  upon,  in  order,  if  pos- 
sible, to  prevent  the  success  of  Mr.  Freeling's  schemes,  was 
one  in  regard  to  the  success  of  which  she  felt  more  and  more 
apprehension  as  she  came  to  think  it  over.  She  had  never 
seen  Severne,  and  had  imbibed  the  idea  that  he  was  of  a 
harsh  and  repulsive  disposition.  If  such  were  the  case,  there 
was  little  to  be  hoped  for,  as  such  persons  always  sustain 
their  agents.  Her  mother,  too,  had  endeavored  to  dissuade 
her  from  making  any  attempt  to  change  the  situation  of 
affairs. 


200  ROBERT    SKVERXE. 

But  Grace  had  very  wisely  considered  that  at  the  worst 
things  could  not  be  rendered  more  unfavorable  for  them 
than  they  were.  "Mr.  Severne,"she  had  said  to  her  mother, 
"if  he  does  not  think  proper  to  allow  us  to  retain  the  houses 
at  their  present  rent,  can  do  no  more  than  refuse,  and  so, 
dear  mamma,  I  am  determined  to  see  him.  He  has  not 
heard  our  side  of  the  story  yet,  and  he  never  will  hear  it 
from  Mr.  Freeling. " 

She  had  only  waited  in  the  parlor  a  few  moments  when 
Severne  entered  the  room.  Grace  was  a  v'ery  pretty  and  a 
very  sweet-looking  girl.  She  was  dressed  very  plainly,  for 
her  means  did  not  admit  of  any  display  in  this  direction,  but 
everything  was  made  and  worn  with  that  unmistakably 
good  taste  which  bespeaks  the  lady  more  than  anything  else 
which  a  casual  inspection  places  at  our  disposal  when  we 
are  forming  an  opinion  as  to  the  status  of  one  of  the  softer 
sex.  Severne  at  once  made  up  his  mind  in  regard  to  the 
position  in  life  which  his  visitor  ought  to  occupy.  Female 
beauty  always  exercised  a  great  influence  over  him,  and  he 
took  every  opportunity  of  which  good  breeding  admitted  to 
look  at  Grace's  face.  He  thought  it  very  lovely,  but  nothing 
like  so  lovely  as  Margaret's. 

On  the  other  hand,  Grace  was  agreeably  surprised  to 
find  that  Severne  was  far  from  being  the  haughty  and 
disagreeable  individual  she  had  conceived  him  to  be.  She 
gained  courage  as  she  perceived  that  he  was  gentlemanly 
and  considerate  in  his  manner.  She  saw  that  he  was  hand- 
some, too,  but  she  was  afraid  to  inspect  his  features  very 
closely. 

"I  have  come,  Mr.  Severne,"  she  said,  with  a  very  soft 
and  musical  voice,  "to  see  you  in  regard  to  the  houses  in 
Lexington  Avenue  belonging  to  you,  and  which  are  occu- 
pied by  my  mother.  We  have  lived  in  them  for  several 
years  at  what  has  been  considered  a  fair  rent,  and  now,  Mr. 
Freeling  informs  us,  it  is  to  be  doubled  after  this  month. 
It  is  impossible  for  my  mother  to  pay  this  great  addition, 
and  we  shall  consequently  be  obliged  to  leave  them,  to  our 
very  great  inconvenience  and  regret." 

"May  I  ask  what  rent  your  mother  pays  now,  Miss  Lang- 
ley  ?  I  have  really  forgotten,  and  I  neglected  to  ask  Mr. 
Freeling  when  I  authorized  him  to  increase  the  rent,"  said 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  201 

Severne,  who  now  remembered  that  the  houses  were  occu- 
pied by  a  widow  lady  named  Langley. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  a  year  each.  It  is  to  be  increased 
to  a  thousand." 

"That  is  a  very  large  increase,  I  should  say,  Miss  Lang- 
ley.  Do  you  think,  or  does  your  mother  think,  they  are 
worth  so  much  a  year  ?" 

"  They  are  very  comfortable  houses,  Mr.  Severne,  and  are 
in  excellent  order,  but  we  do  not  think  they  are  worth  so 
high  a  rent  as  Mr.  Freeling  demands.  If  we  thought  dif- 
ferently I  do  not  think  mamma  would  have  allowed  me  to 
call  on  you  about  the  matter.  They  may  be  worth  more 
than  the  sum  we  now  pay,  but  they  are  not  worth  double 
that  amount." 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Freeling,  Miss  Langley  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  he  used  to  occupy  rooms  in  one  of  the 
houses." 

"  Is  there  any  reason  why  Mr.  Freeling  should  wish  to 
raise  your  mother's  rent  ?" 

Grace  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Though  she  despfsed 
Freeling,  she  did  not — now  that  she  was  called  upon  to  do 
so — like  to  say  anything  that  would  injure  him  with  his  em- 
ployer. She  reflected,  however,  that  she  might  answer  that 
question  without  entering  into  any  particulars. 

"I  think  there  is,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  not  question  you  further,  Miss  Langley,"  said 
Severne.  "Please  give  my  compliments  to  your  mother,  and 
say  to  her  that  the  rent  shall  not  be  raised.  Why  did  not 
she  come  ?" 

"Mamma  is  very  timid.  She  has  had  so  much  to  trouble 
her  that  I  took  the  duty  off  her  hands.  I  cannot  thank  you 
enough,  Mr.  Severne,  for  your  kindness.  I  am  sure  mamma 
will  be  very  glad  to  call  and  see  you  now,  and  thank  you  in 
person." 

"  She  could  not  have  had  a  more  acceptable  ambassa- 
dress," said  Severne,  smiling.  "  But,  Miss  Langley,"  he 
continued,  with  an  excited  manner,  as  if  a  new  and  brilliant 
idea  had  occurred  to  him,  "will  you  allow  me  to  accompany 
you  home  ?  I  would  like  to  have  a  little  conversation  with 
your  mother." 

18* 


202  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

Grace  signified  her  acquiescence,  though  she  wondered 
what  the  business  could  be  which  had  so  suddenly  arisen. 

As  they  walked  toward  Lexington  Avenue,  Severne  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  Grace,  and  discovered  that  she 
was  possessed  of  both  good  sense  and  good  education. 
Here,  then,  within  twenty-four  hours,  he  had  met  with  two 
women  who  had  compelled  him  to  acknowledge  their  beauty 
a'nd  worth,  two  things  which  Severne  had  hitherto  been  half 
disposed  to  think  rarely  went  together  in  women. 

The  conversation  was  more  on  Grace's  part,  however, 
than  on  his.  She  had  had  a  great  load  lifted  from  her 
mind,  and  therefore  felt  in  the  vein  for  making  herself  agree- 
able to  him  who  by  a  word  had  raised  it.  He  was  engrossed 
with  the  new  idea  which  had  flashed  across  his  mind,  and 
which  he  was  still  considering.  He  said  enough,  however, 
to  keep  Grace's  tongue  in  action,  and  he  was  not  so  busy 
but  that  he  heard  and  understood  the  greater  portion  of 
what  she  said. 

And  what  was  the  thought  which  had  struck  Severne 
with  so  much  force  that  he  must  rush  off  at  once  to  put  it  iu 
action  if  possible  ?  Simply  this  : 

He  had  been  reflecting  more  or  less  since  his  interview 
with  Sarah,  at  which  he  had  stated  his  views  in  regard  to 
her,  that  there  would  be  several  practical  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  carrying  them  out  with  entire  success.  These  would 
all  certainly  be  increased  by  his  absence  at  the  very  time 
that  Sarah  would  most  require  support  and  advice.  He 
could  not  take  her  into  his  own  house  without  getting  a 
lady  of  refinement,  education,  and  intelligence  to  enter  it  in 
the  capacity  of  Sarah's  governess,  and  he  did  not  consider 
that  it  would  be  altogether  right,  even  if  he  found  such  a 
one,  to  leave  her  and  Sarah  alone  in  his  house  during  his 
tour. 

To  place  his  ward  in  a  boarding-school  would  be,  he 
thought,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  alto- 
gether inadmissible.  John  Holmes  and  his  granddaughter 
were  also  going  to  travel  in  a  few  weeks,  so  that  he  could 
not  obtain  much  assistance  from  them.  While  they  remained 
in  town  there  would  be  no  difficulty,  but  as  they  were  to 
leave  in  so  short  a  time,  it  was  of  course  expedient  to  make 
arrangements  now  that  would  at  least  last  till  his  own  return. 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  203 

He  had  thns  been  led  to  think  that  if  he  could  find  some 
quiet,  respectable,  and  refined  family,  who  would  be  willing 
to  receive  Sarah  as  one  of  their  members  for  the  few  months 
during  which  he  contemplated  being  absent,  he  should  be 
able  to  place  the  matter  in  the  best  possible  position  for  all 
concerned.  While  Grace  was  in  his  parlor,  he  had  been 
struck  with  her  ladylike  appearance  and  manners,  and  had 
consequently  formed  the  idea  that  Grace's  mother  must  also 
be  a  very  superior  woman.  The  transition  from  this  thought 
to  Sarah  was  very  natural.  What  if  Mrs.  Langley  were 
just  the  person  to  take  charge  of  her?  How  very  conve- 
nient and  desirable  such  an  arrangement  would  be.  And 
hence  his  sudden  wish  to  make  that  lady's  acquaintance,  and 
to  escort  Grace  to  her. home. 

Mrs.  Langley  was  seated  in  her  little  parlor,  anxiously 
awaiting  Grace's  return,  when  this  young  lady  bounded  into 
the  room,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck, 
exclaimed  in  a  whisper  : 

"  Oh,  mamma,  Mr.  Severne  was  so  kind  !  All  is  right. 
He  is  in  the  hall,  and  will  be  here  in  a  second." 

And  before  she  had  finished  speaking,  Severne  had  entered 
the  room. 

Grace  immediately  presented  him  to  her  mother,  who 
began  to  thank  him  for  his  consideration. 

"  I  beg,  madam,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  say  nothing  more 
on  the  subject.  The  houses  are  really  not  worth  more  than 
five  hundred  a  year,  and  I  should  feel  like  a  swindler  if  I 
exacted  more  than  that  sum  for  them.  In  justice  to  myself, 
however,  even  at  the  risk  of  appearing  to  lessen  the  efficacy 
of  Miss  Langley's  mission,  I  must  say  that  I  intended  to 
rescind  the  order  given  to  Mr.  Freeling  before  it  should  go 
into  effect.  I  am  extremely  sorry  it  has  caused  even  a  mo- 
ment's uneasiness,  and  I  must  ask  your  forgiveness  for  my 
want  of  consideration." 

"  I  am  very  sure,  Mr.  Severne,"  replied  Mrs.  Langley, 
"  that  the  idea  would  never  have  occurred  to  you  but  for  Mr. 
Freeling.  As  it  is,  instead  of  offering  you  forgiveness,  we 
must  never  cease  to  remember  your  kindness." 

"I  did  not  press  Miss  Langley  for  information  in  regard 
to  Mr.  Freeliug's  motives,  but  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you  if  you  will  tell  me  what  you  may  know  of  the  matter." 


204  ROBERT    SEVERiNE. 

In  compliance,  therefore,  with  Severne's  request,  Mrs. 
Langley  entered  into  a  detailed  account  of  the  agent's 
conduct. 

"I  was  very  sure,"  said  Severne,  when  she  had  concluded, 
"that  he  had  an  object  other  than  the  false  one  he  alleged, 
and  it  was  in  the  hope  of  discovering  it  that  I  consented  to 
his  proposition.  I  must  request,  however,  that  you  will  not 
inform  him  that  I  have  been  enlightened.  When  he  comes 
for  the  rent,  hand  him  the  paper  I  will  give  you  in  a  moment, 
but  enter  into  no  explanations."  With  these  words,  Sev- 
erne went  to  a  writing-desk  which  occupied  a  corner  of  the 
room,  and  wrote  a  certificate  to  the  effect  that  the  three 
houses  in  Lexington  Avenue  had  been  continued  to  Mrs. 
Langley  for  three  years,  should  she  require  them  so  long,  at 
the  rent  of  five  hundred  dollars  each. 

"I  will  see,"  he  continued,  "that  your  lease  is  made  oat 
in  accordance  with  this  certificate  before  I  leave  the  country. 
In  the  meantime,  this  will  be  sufficient." 

Mrs.  Langley  was  again  about  to  break  out  in  the  expres- 
sion of  her  thanks,  when  Severne  again  interrupted  her. 

"You  have  given  me  an  evidence  of  your  confidence, 
madam,"  he  said.  "  I  have  now  to  ask  your  consideration  of 
what  1  have  to  say.  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  continued,  "that 
it  will  be  necessary  for  Miss  Langley  to  leave  us  for  a  short 
time.  I  can  safely  state,  however,  that  what  I  have  to  say 
to  her  mother  is  not  of  a  character  to  cause  her  any  uneasi- 
ness, but,  on  the  contrary,  will,  I  trust,  in  the  end,  give  her 
a  great  deal  of  pleasure." 

"  I  think,  mamma,"  said  Grace,  laughingly,  as  she  quitted 
the  room,  "you  can  safely  trust  yourself  with  the  lion  in 
our  den  after  I  have  bearded  him  so  successfully  in  his  own." 

After  her  departure,  Severne  gave  Mrs.  Langley  a  de- 
tailed account  of  Sarah  so  far  as  his  relations  with  her  had 
extended,  and  of  his  intentions  in  regard  to  her. 

"I  am  very  sure,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "that  she  has 
many  excellent  points  of  character,  which  only  need  oppor- 
tunity and  the  care  you  will  be  able  to  exercise  over  her  for 
their  full  development.  I  would  not  ask  you  to  assume  so 
great  a  responsibility  were  I  not  perfectly  satisfied  of  her 
disposition  to  receive  the  instruction  which  will  qualify  her 
for  a  more  elevated  position  in  life  than  that  she  has  hereto- 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  205 

fore  occupied,  and  also  of  your  fitness  for  the  duty  of  edu- 
cating her  in  accordance  with  my  ideas.  I  cannot  ask  you 
to  decide  the  question  immediately,  but  I  trust  you  will 
allow  me  to  hope  that  you  will  bestow  upon  it  your  full  con- 
sideration, and  give  me  an  answer  of  as  favorable  a  charac- 
ter as  possible  at  your  earliest  convenience." 

"I  will  not  conceal  from  you.  Mr.  Severne,"  replied  Mrs. 
Langley,  "that  while  I  am  fully  sensible  of  this  mark  of 
your  confidence  in  one  whom  you  scarcely  know,  I  am  also 
deeply  impressed  .with  the  feeling  of  responsibility  your 
proposition  excites.  You  will,  I  am  sure,  also  excuse  me, 
when,  as  a  mother,  I  tell  you  that  I  am  not  free  from  ap- 
prehension in  regard  to  introducing  one  whose  whole  life 
has  been  so  thoroughly  dissolute  and  low  to  the  companion- 
ship of  my  daughters.  Before  deciding,  I  would  like  to  see 
Sarah,  and  ascertain  for  myself,  so  far  as  I  can,  her  present 
disposition.  If  I  should  find  that  she  is  not  radically  de- 
praved, but  is  anxious  and  determined  to  avail  herself  to 
the  fullest  extent  of  your  generous  and  Christian  purposes, 
I  will  be  the  last  one  to  thwart  them  by  any  act  of  mine.  I 
would  also  like,  if  you  have  no  objection,  to  mention  to  my 
daughters  so  much  of  what  you  have  told  me  as  may  be  ne- 
cessary to  enable  them  to  give  Die  the  bc'iiefit  of  their  advice. 
My  oldest  daughter,  Elizabeth,  has  been  an  invalid  for 
many  years,  but  she  has  a  great  deal  of  her  father's  strength 
of  character  and  good  sense,  and  her  opinion  would  be  val- 
uable to  me.  And  Grace,  though  she  would  probably  look 
at  the  matter  from  a  different  point  of  view,  would  give  a 
decision  based  upon  honorable  and  just  motives." 

"I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  mention  it  to  your 
daughters,  my  dear  madam,  in  such  terms  as  you  may  see 
fit  to  employ,  and  to  any  extent  you  may  deem  proper. 
Though  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your  eldest 
daughter,  I  am  very  certain  you  do  not  overstate  the  value 
of  her  judgment,  for  I  know  you  have  said  110  more  than  is 
strictly  true  in  regard  to  Miss  Grace  Langley,  I  am  very 
apt,  as  you  have  doubtless  perceived,  to  form  my  opinions 
of  individuals  from  first  impressions,  and  though  I  am  some- 
times deceived,  this  is  very  rarely  the  case,  not  perhaps  so 
frequently  as  if  I  waited  for  more  thorough  acquaintance. 
I  have  seen  sufficient  of  vou  and  Miss  Grace  to  convince 


20fi  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

myself  that  I  am  not  wrong  in  giving  you  my  confidence. 
As  to  an  interview  with  Sarah,  I  recognize  fully  the  pro- 
priety of  your  request,  and  will  be  very  happy  if  you  will 
meet  her  at  my  house  to-morrow  morning,  at  such  an  hour 
as  may  suit  your  convenience." 

Mrs.  Langley  appointed  a  time  for  the  interview,  and 
Severne  took  his  leave,  with  the  confidence  that  there  would 
be  no  further  difficulty  in  the  case. 

There  were  still,  however,  many  preparations  to  make. 
He  commissioned  Margaret  to  supply  Sarah's  wardrobe  with 
suitable  clothing,  and  to  purchase  such  other  articles  as 
might  be  necessary.  And  by  the  next  morning  the  millinery, 
mantua-making,  and  other  arrangements  essential  to  a  pre- 
sentable parure  were  so  far  completed,  that  when  Severne 
drove  round  in  his  carriage  to  John  Holmes's  house  at  ten 
o'clock,  Sarah  was  as  tastefully  attired  a  young  woman,  and 
looked  as  pretty  as  he  had  any  right  to  expect. 

She  came  toward  him  and  held  out  her  hand,  as  he  en- 
tered the  room. 

"  I  was  not  able  to  thank  you  yesterday  for  all  your  good- 
ness," she  said,  "  and  I  cannot  do  so  now  in  proper  terms. 
I  will  show  you,  however,  by  my  actions  how  much  I  appre- 
ciate it,  and  I  hope  and  believe  you  will  never  have  cause  to 
repent  of  your  kindness." 

"No  more  of  that,  my  dear  child,"  said  Severne,  smiling, 
and  looking  admiringly  at  her.  "  I  am  very  sure  you  will  do 
your  best ;  but  I  have  come  now  to  take  you  to  your  home. 
You  will  not  be  there  long,  however,  for  I  trust  matters  will 
be  so  shaped  as  to  give  you,  till  my  return,  a  much  more 
cheerful  residence  and  more  agreeable  society  than  you  would 
meet  with  in  my  bachelor  establishment.  I  suppose  Miss 
Leslie  has  told  you  of  the  contemplated  arrangements,  which 
I  mentioned  to  her  yesterday." 

"Yes.     I  am  very  sorry  you  are  going  away." 

"I  am  almost  sorry  now,  myself,"  said  Severne,  smiling  ; 
"but  I  am  under  a  solemn  promise  to  my  physician,  and  he 
is  a  great  tyrant,  and  might  poison  me  if  I  broke  my  agree- 
ment." 

"I  see  you  are  joking,"  said  Sarah,  as  she  noticed  his 
smile,  though  she  was  for  a  moment  disposed  to  give  full 
credit  to  his  words.  "The  best  nran  I  ever  knew  but  you 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  207 

was  a  physician.  He  was  very  kind  to  a  woman  and  her 
child  who  lived  in  our  house,  and  who  had  the  cholera.  He 
gave  them  both  food  and  medicine,  and  nursed  them  himself, 
with  a  little  assistance  from  me,  till  they  recovered.  There 
is  nothing  now  that-  Ann  Simmons  would  not  do  for  him. 
I  think,"  she  continued,  while  her  face  became  crimson  with 
shame,  "that  he  was  with  you  that  night  in  Fifth  Avenue." 

"Lawrence !"  exclaimed  Severne. 

"That  was  his  name,"  said  Sarah.  "He  did  not  recog- 
nize me  that  night." 

"  You  will  see  him  this  morning.  Do  not  be  afraid,  my 
dear  -child,"  be  continued,  observing  Sarah's  look  of  con- 
sternation. "  He  is  still  as  kind  as  he  ever  was.  He  is  one 
of  my  dearest  friends,  and  will  meet  you  with  all  the  sym- 
pathy and  consideration  he  knows  so  well  how  to  show*." 

"Everything  seems  like  a  dream  to  me,"  said  Sarah,  with 
emotion.  "Is  it  possible  it  will  all  last?  I  am  so  happy, 
and  all  around  me  are  so  good,  that  I  can  scarcely  believe 
it  to  be  real.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she  continued,  as 
the  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "  I  try  my  best  to  be  quiet, 
but  I  cannot.  I  am  so  unlike  Miss  Leslie  that  I  am  afraid 
to  speak  to  her,  or  even  to  come  near  her.  Oh,  do  you 
think  I  can  ever  be  like  her?" 

''My  dear  Sarah, "said  Severne,  leading  her  to  a  sofa  and 
seating  himself  by  her  side,  "God  has  so  ordered  things  in 
this  world  that  we  are,  to  a  great  extent,  the  arbiters  of  our 
own  destiny.  For  a  time  he  may  allow  us  to  suffer  wrongs 
and  indignities,  even  when  we  have  conscientiously  endeav- 
ored to  do  our  duty.  I  cannot  say,  therefore,  what  he  has 
in  store  for  you,  but  I  believe  that  if  you  earnestly  strive  to 
do  your  part  with  faithfulness,  and  trust  in  him,  you  will  not 
labor  in  vain.  Do  you  ever  read  your  Bible,  Sarah  ?" 

"  I  used  to  read  it  when  I  lived  with  Mrs.  Wiggins,  but 
I  got  out  of  the  habit,  as  I  saw  that  many  people  who  came 
there  and  read  it  a  great  deal  were  really  worse  than  those 
who  did  not." 

"  That  may  have  been  so,  Sarah.  Many  persons  pre- 
tend to  be  religious,  in  order  to  effect  their  evil  purposes 
with  greater  certainty.  You  will  learn,  however,  to  discrim- 
inate between  those  who  are  guided  by  the  Word  of  God, 
and  those  who,  while  pretending  to  heed  it,  are  really  more 


208  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

depraved  than  those  who  openly  practice  all  manner  of  wick- 
edness." 

"Last  night,"  said  Sarah,  softly,  "Miss  Leslie — she  told 
me  to  call  her  Margaret,  but  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  ought  to 
yet — came  into  my  room  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  asked 
me  if  I  ever  prayed.  I  was  obliged  to  tell  her  no.  And 
then  she  got  her  prayer-book,  and  asked  me  to  kneel  down 
with  her  and  say  the  Lord's  Prayer.  She  put  her  arm  around 
my  neck,  and  we  knelt  down  together  and  prayed.  And 
then  she  told  me  that  God  was  ready  to  forgive  all  my  sins 
if  I  came  to  him  with  a  contrite  heart.  I  told  her  she  did 
not  know,  and  that  I  could  not  tell  her  how  wicked  my  life 
had  been.  And  she  said  she  did  not  want  to  know,  that 
God  knew,  and  that  was  enough.  And  then  she  kissed  me, 
and  bid  me  good  night,  and  said  that  God  would  take  care 
of  me." 

"  He  will  take  care  of  you,  my  dear  child,"  said  Severne. 
"  When  we  have  brought  ourselves  to  confess  our  sins,  they 
are  already  more  than  half  forgiven.  Let  me  relate  to  you 
the  particulars  of  an  incident  which  happened  to  me  in 
Spain  several  years  since,  and  which,  I  am  sure,  will  inter- 
est you."  ' 

While  Severne  was  speaking,  Margaret  entered  the  room. 
She  would  have  at  once  retreated,  as  she  saw  he  was  earn- 
estly talking  to  Sarah,  and  that  neither  had  perceived  her, 
but  a  strange  fascination  she  could  not  resist  compelled  her 
to  remain.  She  sat  down  on  a  chair  near  the  door  and 
listened. 

"  I  was  crossing  the  Pyrenees,  and  had  reached  a  defile  in 
the  mountains,"  continued  Soverne,  "  which  led  out  to  the 
open  country,  when  our  party  was  stopped  by  a  man,  who 
inquired  if  there  was  a  physician  in  it.  There  was  none, 
but  as  I  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  society  of 
physicians,  and  had  studied  medicine  to  some  slight  extent, 
I  offered  him  my  services.  He  accepted  them  with  many 
thanks,  and  led  me  to  a  squalid  hut,  built  among  the  rocks, 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  main  road,  but  in  so  retired  and 
secluded  a  spot  that  no  one  would  have  been  likely  to  find 
it  unless  guided  by  a  person  perfectly  acquainted  with  its 
location.  I  entered  the  wretched  cabin  after  my  conductor. 
Its  interior  was  even  more  forbidding  than  the  outside ; 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  209 

there  was  no  floor,  and,  though  the  weather  was  cold,  there 
was  no  fire  either.  On  a  pile  of  wolf  skins,  in  a  corner  of 
the  only  room  the  hut  contained,  lay  a  tall,  fine-looking  man, 
apparently  in  great  pain,  judging  from  the  expression  of  his 
features,  though  he  uttered  neither  groans  nor  complaints. 
I  approached  him,  and  inquired  as  to  the  nature  of  his  ill- 
ness. He  made  no  answer,  but  with  one  hand  threw  down 
the  rug  that  covered  the  lower  portion  of  his  body,  and  I 
saw  that  both  his  legs  had  been  mashed,  and  were  in  a  state 
of  mortification.  At  the  same  time  he  held  up  the  stump 
of  his  left  arm,  showing  me  that  he  had  also  lost  his  hand. 

"  IB  answer  to  my  questions,  I  ascertained  from  him  and 
my  guide  that  he  had  been  injured  by  the  fall  of  a  large 
piece  of  rock,  four  days  previously,  and  that  they  were  afraid 
to  appeal  to  the  local  authorities  for  aid,  as  they  were  both 
robbers,  and  would  certainly  be  shot  immediately  without 
even  the  form  of  a  trial. 

"  I  examined  him  according  to  the  best  of  ray  ability,  and 
told  him,  what  was  indeed  perfectly  true,  that  death  was  in- 
evitable. Even  then  he  was  almost  pulseless,  and  life  could 
not  by  any  possibility  have  been  prolonged  over  a  few 
hours. 

"'I  was  certain  of  it,  senor,'he  said.  'I  have  been  a  very 
bad  man,  but  since  I  have  been  on  this  bed  I  have  thought 
a  great  deal  of  my  wickedness,  and  I  have  asked  God  to 
forgive  me.  I  am  not,  therefore,  afraid  of  death.  You 
may  think  it  is  very  late  for  me  to  ask  pardon,  but  I  am 
perfectly  sincere  in  it.  If  I  was  to  live  I  should  try  to  do 
my  duty  my  life  through.' 

"I  saw  he  was  exhausted  by  talking.  I  gave  him  a  drink 
of  brandy  from  my  flask,  and  begged  him  not  to  exert  him- 
self, but  he  seemed  desirous  of  conversing  with  me. 

" '  Do  you  believe  in  dreams  ?'  he  asked  me,  with  an 
anxious  manner. 

"  I  told  him  I  did  not,  but  that  dreams  oftentimes  were 
serviceable  to  us  in  bringing  matters  before  our  minds  which 
in  our  waking  moments  would  have  escaped  us. 

"  '  That  is  it,'  he  replied.  '  I  have  frequently  thought 
things  out  in  my  dreams  which  I  could  not  succeed  in  making 
clear  when  I  was  awake.  Last  night  I  had  a  dream  which 

19 


210  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

has  impressed  me  very  forcibly,  and  which  I  would  like  to 
relate  to  you.' 

"  I  signified  my  willingness  to  hear  it,  and  raising  himself 
in  bed  as  far  as  he  could,  he  said  : 

'"Last  night,  senor,  after  I  had  spent  the  day  in  trying 
to  satisfy  my  mind  in  regard  to  God's  favor  to  me,  I  had  a 
dream  which  has  given  me  great  comfort,  and  which  has 
convinced  me  that  He  has  heard  my  prayer.  I  dreamed 
that  I  was  at  an  inn,  and  that  in  the  room  with  me  was  a 
company  composed  of  many  high  and  noble  persons.  There 
were  princes,  and  bishops,  and  doctors,  and  dignitaries  of 
all  kinds,  who  seemed  to  be  good  men.  In  a  corner,  how- 
ever, sat  a  man  who  did  not  appear  to  belong  to  the  rest, 
and  whom  they  all  looked  upon  with  disgust  and  suspicion. 
Some  said  he  was  a  heretic,  others  a  robber,  and  several  de- 
clared they  were  certain  he  had  committed  murder.  All 
shunned  him,  and  one  of  the  bishdps  said  he  ought  to  be 
given  up  to  the  police  at  once. 

" '  The  man,  although  he  evidently  saw  how  he  was  avoided, 
said  nothing,  but  ate  his  supper  in  silence,  and  prepared  to 
sleep  in  his  chair,  as  all  the  beds  were  taken  by  the  others. 

'"I  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  assembly  without  apparently 
being  seen  by  any  of  them,  when  suddenly  my  eyes  were 
dazzled  at  the  sight  of  a  bright  being  who  approached  me. 
Do  not  be  afraid,  he  said,  I  am  an  angel  of  God.  Mark  well 
what  you  shall  see  and  hear. 

"  'He  then  rendered  himself  visible  to  the  assembled  com- 
pany, and  all  fell  on  their  knees  \vith  terror  except  the  poor 
man  in  the  corner,  who  alone  looked  at  him  without  fear. 

"'I  am  sent,  said  the  angel,  to  announce  to  you  that 
before  twelve  o'clock  this  night  your  souls  will  all  be  re- 
quired of  you,  and  to  hear  what  you  may  have  to  say. 

"'All  began  to  speak,  but  the  angel  stopped  them,  and 
approaching  one  of  the  bishops  said  : 

"  'Are  you  ready  ? 

"  'I  am  ready,  he  replied ;  I  have  done  my  duty. 

"'Not  so,  said  the  angel  to-me.  He  has  made  himself 
rich  from  the  gifts  of  the  poor  laid  upon  the  altar  of  God. 

"  'Are  you  ready  ?  he  said  to  another. 

"  '  I  am,  was  the  answer.  I  have  repented  of  all  my  sins, 
and  have  been  righteous  these  many  years. 


ROBERT    SEVERXE.  211 

"  '  That  is  not  true,  said  the  angel,  addressing  me.  His 
life  has  been  iniquitous  from  the  time  he  could  judge  right 
from  wrong  to  this  hour. 

"  'Are  you  ready  ?  he  said  to  one  of  the  princes. 

" '  Yes,  I  have  always  been  at  peace  with  God ;  I  go  to 
mass  every  day  of  my  life. 

" '  For  thirty  years  he  has  oppressed  the  widow  and  orphan, 
said  the  angel. 

"  'And  thus  he  went  to  each  one.  Each  was  ready,  each 
was  righteous  in  his  own  sight,  but  of  each  one  the  angel 
had  something  to  say  in  condemnation. 

" '  Then  he  went  to  the  man  who  sat  in  the  corner,  and 
who  looked  piteously  up  at  his  approach. 

"  'Are  you  ready  ?  said  the  angel. 

"  'I  am  not  ready;  my  sins  are  so  great  that  I  dare  not 
stand  in  the  presence  of  my  God. 

"  '  Have  you  not  tried  to  do  God's  will  ? 

"'I  have  not,  replied  the  man,  bowing  his  head.  I  have 
disregarded  his  word  every  hour  of  my  life. 

"  '  And  have  you  no  hope  ?  said  the  angel.     • 

" '  No  hope,  replied  the  man,  clasping  his  hands  and 
weeping.  No  hope  but  in  the  mercy  of  my  Father. 

'"The  angel  regarded  him  sorrowfully,  but  with  a  gleam 
of  joy  shining  over  his  countenance,  and  then  putting  his 
hands  on  his  head  said  :  Fear  not,  God  will  take  care  of 
thee.  And  then  coming  to  me  said  :  Behold  the  only  one 
who  is  not  afraid  to  confess  his  own  unworthiness.  Now 
watch. 

"  '  He  had  hardly  said  these  words  before  the  clock  began 
to  strike  twelve.  All  looked  anxious,  as  the  sound  of  each 
stroke  rang  on  their  ears,  except  the  man  who  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  room ;  his  face  was  calm,  but  lit  up  with  hope 
and  trust.  The  hour  had  passed,  and  all  were  dead.  I 
saw  the  spirits  rise  from  the  bodies  of  the  great  people  who 
were  certain  of  eternal  life  and  then  suddenly  disappear 
from  my  sight,  as  if  dragged  down  by  an  invisible  hand.  I 
looked  toward  the  poor  man  in  the  corner.  He  had  fallen 
back  in  his  chair  dead,  and  his  soul  was  rising  into  the  arms 
of  an  angel  who  stood  ready  to  receive  it.  He  clasped  it 
to  his  breast,  with  a  radiant  smile  upon  his  features,  and 
swiftly  ascended  with  it  beyond  my  sight.' 


212  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

"The  man  suddenly  stopped,"  continued  Severne,  after  a 
moment's  pause.  "  I  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  closed  and  that  his  breath  was  almost  gone.  I  felt  his 
pulse ;  it  was  still.  He  was  dead.  A  smile  was  on  his 
cold,  pallid  face,  and  he  had  entered  upon  an  eternal  life, 
conscious  of  his  failings,  but  trusting  in  the  forgiveness  of 
the  Father  who  made  him.  Can  we  doubt,  my  dear  child, 
that  God  was  merciful  to  him,  or  that  He  will  have  equal 
compassion  on  you  if  you  acknowledge  your  transgressions 
and  strive  to  do  His  will  ?  And  therefore  it  is  that  I  say 
fear  not, — God  will  take  care  of  you." 

Sarah  was  unable  to  speak  from  excess  of  emotion,  but 
she  took  Severne's  hand  and  raised  it  to  her  lips,  and  Mar- 
garet coming  forward,  knelt  by  her  side. 

"  I  have  heard  all,"  she  said  to  Severne,  looking  up  into 
his  face  through  the  tears  which  filled  her  eyes.  "You  need 
not  fear  for  her,  and  she  need  have  none  that  you  will  not 
be  to  her  a  good,  a  wise,  and  a  just  guardian." 

Severne  was  surprised,  but  he  was  always  pleased  now 
when  he  saw  Margaret.  He  did  not  know  exactly  what 
-to  say,  so  he  rose,  and  walking  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
room  busied  himself  in  studying  a  picture  the  details  of 
which  be  knew  by  heart.  After  he  had  left  the  two  girls 
sufficiently  long  together,  he  returned,  with  his  watch  in  his 
hand,  and  reminded  them  that  it  was  time  to  keep  the  ap- 
pointment that  had  been  made  with  Mrs.  Langley.  They 
went  to  get  their  bonnets,  and  in  a  few  moments  were  on 
their  way  to  Severne's  house. 

"I  am  anxious,"  said  Margaret,  smiling,  "to  see  what 
sort  of  a  place  a  bachelor's  house  is.  I  suppose  you  have 
very  little  in  it,"  she  continued,  archly,  "to  conduce  to  your 
comfort  ?" 

"  I  have  not  a  very  great  deal,  I  must  confess,  but  books 
and  a  few  pictures,"  replied  Severne. 

"  I  shall  look  at  both,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  have  a  natu- 
ral right  to  be  fond  of  both,  for  my  grandfather  is  a  book- 
seller and  my  great-grandfather  was  a  painter." 

"  I  have  a  very  fine  work,  of  the  latter  which  I  must  show 
you,"  said  Severne.  I  picked  it  up  in  this  country  several 
years  ago,  though  of  course  it  was  painted  in  Germany.  I 
have  no  idea  how  it  got  here.  I  value  it  very  highly." 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  213 

"  I  have  heard  grandpapa  speak  of  it,  and  I  should  like  to 
see  it  very  much." 

When  they  entered  Severne's  parlor,  they  found  Mrs. 
Langley  already  there,  though  Lawrence  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived. It  was  a  very  informal  meeting.  Mrs.  Langley 
talked  a  great  deal,  and  tried  to  make  Sarah  talk  also,  but 
with  indifferent  success.  The  latter  of  course  did  not  know 
that  she  was  being  studied  with  a  critical  eye,  but  such  was 
nevertheless  the  case,  and,  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour, 
Mrs.  Langley  announced  in  a  side  whisper  to  Severne  that 
she  was  satisfied  she  had  no  cause  for  fear,  and  that  she  had 
no  doubt  Sarah  would  fulfill  his  best  anticipations.  She 
then  stated  that  she  had  two  nice  rooms  in  the  house  ad- 
joining the  one  she  herself  lived  in,  upon  the  same  floor  as 
her  own  and  her  daughters'  rooms,  and  that  by  cutting  a  door 
through  the  party  wall  direct  communication  could  be  es- 
tablished between  them.  Nothing  could  have  been  more 
satisfactory  than  this  arrangement,  and  Severne  gave  Mrs. 
Langley  carte  blanche  as  to  the  fitting  up  and  furnishing  of 
the  apartments.  It  was  settled  that  as  soon  as  the  rooms 
were  ready,  Sarah  should  take  possession  of  them,  and  in 
the  mean  time,  as  several  days  would  be  necessary  to  get 
them  in  order,  he  decided,  in  accordance  with  John  Holmes's 
and  Margaret's  requests,  to  leave  her  with  them. 

Mrs.  Langley  then  took  her  leave,  after  a  few  words  to 
Sarah,  expressive  of  the  pleasure  she  and  her  daughters 
would  take  in  seeing  her  with  them,  which  language  Sarah 
warmly  reciprocated,  and  Severne  and  the  two  young  ladies 
proceeded  to  the  picture  gallery  to  look  at  the  painting 
which  Margaret's  great-grandfather  had  made.  While  they 
were  examining  it,  and  the  other  fine  pictures  which  hung 
on  the  walls,  Lawrence  entered  the  room.  Severne  pre- 
sented him  to  the  ladies.  He  started  as  he  looked  at  Sarah, 
and  then  went  up  to  her  frankly  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  know  you  now,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "You  are  the 
little  nurse  who  was  of  so  much  assistance  to  me  when  Ann 
Simmons  and  her  baby  .were  sick,  grown  into  a  tall  young 
lady.  Severne,"  he  continued,  aside  to  his  friend,  "she  was 
one  of  the  most  faithful  little  creatures  I  ever  saw  at  a  bed- 
side. I  wish  you  joy  of  your  bargain.  I  have  great  hopes  of 
it.  What  a  lovely  being  John  Holmes's  granddaughter  is!" 

19* 


214  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"Hush!"  said  Severne,  half  annoyed  at  Lawrence's  un- 
disguised admiration.  "  She  will  hear  you." 

"  I  will  never  say  it  again  to  you,"  said  Lawrence, 
smiling. 

"Now,  Mr.  Severne,"  exclaimed  Margaret,  "I  have  suf- 
ficiently studied  my  ancestor's  picture  to  get  a  tolerable  idea 
of  it.  Some  other  time  I  shall  ask  you  to  let  me  see  it 
again,  as  well  as  your  other  paintings.  I  will  not  express  an 
opinion  about  it  now,  except  to  say  that  I  am  very  favor- 
ably impressed  with  it.  It  is  so  large,  and  there  is  so  much 
detail  in  it  that  several  inspections  will  be  necessary  in  order 
for  me  to  form  a  correct  judgment  in  regard  to  its  position, 
when  compared  with  his  other  pictures  which  I  have  seen. 
What  I  want  now  is  just  to  have  a  glance  at  your  library. 
I  think  I  like  books  even  better  than  pictures." 

"And  in  that  I  fully  agree  with  you,  Miss  Leslie,"  said 
Severne,  as  he  led  the  way  to  his  library.  "  We  could  live 
without  paintings,  but  what  would  we  do  without  books  ? 
We  should  go  mad  some  of  us,  I  think."  . 

"  Some  of  us  are  more  likely  to  go  mad  through  our  books 
than  without  them,"  said  Lawrence.  "Do  not,  Miss  Leslie, 
I  beg  of  you,  say  or  do  anything  to  encourage  his  love  for 
books.  He  is  infatuated  enough  already." 

Margaret  could  not  refrain  from  an  exclamation  of  de- 
lighted surprise  when  she  entered  the  library  and  witnessed 
the  completeness  and  beauty  of  all  its  arrangements;  and 
when  she  came  to  examine  the  volumes  with  which  the  shelves 
were  loaded,  her  pleasure  was  still  greater.  "What  a  funny 
book  this  must  be !"  she  exclaimed,  taking  one  of  the  volumes 
into  her  hand:  "'A  Discourse  on  Artificial  Beauty.  Espe- 
cially against  Painting  the  Face.'  Pray,  Mr.  Severne,  do 
you  read  this  frequently,  and  do  you  form  your  opinions 
from  it,  'A  Censure  on  the  Epidemical  Practice  of  Re- 
proaching Red-Haired  Men'?" 

"I  cannot  say,"  replied  Severne,  laughing,  "that  I  have 
formed  my  opinions  from  reading  the  very  conclusive  book 
you  have  in  your  hand.  I  certainly,  however,  am  willing  to 
go  as  far,  or  even  farther,  than  the  learned  author  in  praise 
of  the  red-haired  of  both  sexes." 

"  I  will  never  laugh  at  them  again,"  continued  Margaret,  in 
great  glee.  "The  author  says  here,  that  'they  that  laugh 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  215 

at  red-haired  men  are  tickled  by  the  Devil.'  I  shall  always 
think  of  that  when  I  see  one  hereafter." 

"  I  hope,  Miss  Leslie,"  said  Severne,  as  he  escorted  her 
and  Sarah  to  the  carriage,  "  that  after  my  departure  you 
will  do  me  the  favor  to  make  use  of  my  library  as  if  it  were 
your  own.  I  will  leave  the  key  of  it  in  your  hands,  so  that 
you  will  always  be  able  to  obtain  access  to  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Margaret, 
while  her  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure.  "  There  is  nothing 
I  would  like  better,  and  I  am  sure  grandpapa  will  be  glad, 
too." 

"  Well,  Severne,"  said  Lawrence,  as  the  former  returned 
to  the  library  and  proceeded  to  light  a  cigar,  "you  have 
certainly  had  a  remarkable  '  streak  of  luck,'  as  they  say  in 
the  West.  Your  ward,  as  I  suppose  I  must  call  her,  is  a 
very  pretty,  and  already  quite  a  distingue  looking  girl.  A 
few  months  will  do  wonders  for  her.  It  is  really. wonderful 
to  me  to  see  how  rapidly  some  women  adapt  themselves  to 
new  conditions  of  life.  Their  tact  is  marvelous.  And  how 
much  fine  clothes  do  for  them,  too  !  How  well  she  wore  them  ! 
No  one  could  have  suspected  that  she  was  the  same  dirty 
little  beggar  girl,  who,  last  New  Year's  night,  fleeced  me 
out  of  twenty- five  cents  and  you  out  of  ten  dollars,  and 
who,  a  year  ago,  helped  to  nurse  a  woman  and  her  child  as 
poor  as  herself.  What  nice  little  hands  and  feet  she  has, 
and  how  well  her  boots  and  gloves  fitted  her !  Seriously, 
my  dear  fellow,  I  congratulate  you.  You  have  done  a  good 
thing,  and  I  render  you  my  homage.  You  will  make  a  good 
woman  out  of  her,  I  am  sure.  As  to  Miss  Leslie, — I  beg 
your  pardon,  I  forgot  that  I  was  treading  on  forbidden 
ground,  I  will  say  it  though,  in  spite  of  my  promise, — she  is 
the  most  beautiful  creature  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  My  dear 
fellow,  if  she  is  £,s  good  as  she  is  beautiful,  and  I  can  al- 
ready form  an  opinion  on  that  point,  you  have  drawn  a 
prize,  for  which  I  can  thank  God  with  as  much  sincerity  as 
you  can."  With  these  words,  Lawrence  jumped  up  and 
shook  his  friend  by  the  hand  with  an  energy  which  made 
Severne  wince. 

"I  am  not  in  love  with  her,  Lawrence,"  said  Severne, 
gravely,  "though  she  is  everything  yon  say  of  her,  and  a 
thousandfold  more." 


2 1C  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do,"  replied  Lawrence; 
"but  twenty-four  hours  will  not  elapse  before  you  will  love 
her  more  dearly  than  you  ever  did  or  ever  will  love  anything 
else  which  has  been  or  ever  will  be  in  the  world." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

NEGOTIATIONS. 

Two  weeks  had  elapsed.  Sarah  had  become  established 
in  her  new  home.  Teachers  had  been  found  for  her,  and 
through  their  instruction,  and  the  kindness  and  care  of  Mrs. 
Langley  and  her  daughters,  she  gave  every  promise  of  be- 
coming a  credit  to  her  sex,  and  worthy  the  love  of  those 
who  had  rescued  her  from  a  degraded  and  a  wicked  life. 
Severne's  preparations  for  the  journey  across  the  plains  and 
mountains  of  the  continent  were  nearly  completed,  and  in 
two  days  he  and  Lawrence  were  to  leave  for  St.  Louis, 
where  they  were  to  make  their  final  arrangements.  His 
health  had  scarcely  ever  been  better,  for  the  cessation  of  the 
sedentary  habits  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  the  change 
in  the  character  of  his  mental  occupation,  had  of  themselves 
nearly  effected  his  cure,  as  Lawrence  had  predicted  would 
be  the  result.  Still,  his  friend  was  of  the  opinion  that  travel 
would  very  materially  improve  his  mental  and  physical  con- 
dition, and  therefore  the  idea  had  not  been  abandoned. 

Severne  had  met  Margaret  Leslie  daily  in  all  that  time, 
and  loved  her — loved  her  as  only  those  of  strong  passions 
and  strong  minds  can  love.  He  had  not  tried  to  resist  the 
spell  which  he  felt  each  moment  of  his  life  was  binding  him 
more  closely  in  its  thraldom,  but  he  had  brought  up  for  the 
fair  and  full  consideration  of  his  mind  all  the  circumstances 
of  his  life  and  condition  which  could  in  any  way  affect  the 
subject,  and  he  was  able  to  lift  up  his  face  before  God  and 
say,  with  a  clear  and  ail  honest  heart,  that  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  love  Margaret  Leslie  and  ask  her 


ROBERT   8E VERNE.  217 

to  be  his  wife.  Whether  she  loved  him  or  not,  he  could  not 
yet  tell.  That  she  liked  his  society,  that  she  looked  up  to 
him  as  a  teacher,  that  she  regarded  him  as  one  worthy  to 
be  her  friend,  he  knew  full  well.  But  he  was  twelve  years 
older  than  she  was,  had  seen  more  of  the  world  than  most 
educated  persons  of  his  age,  had  mingled  in  society  under 
all  its  different  phases,  had  read  and  studied  till  his  mind 
was  full  of  subjects  which  interested  her,  had  been  her  grand- 
father's friend  for  many  years,  and  had  been  brought  into 
association  with  her  under  circumstances  which  could  scarcely 
fail  to  impress  her  with  a  favorable  idea  of  his  character. 
.It  would  have  been  strange  therefore  if  she  did  not  like 
him.  He  felt  sure  of  her  friendship  and  esteem,  and  some- 
times, as  he  watched  for  those  little  signs  which  may  mean 
a  great  deal  or  nothing  at  all,  he  thought  he  was  beloved  in 
return. 

To  be  loved  by  Margaret  Leslie  !  He  who  had  hoped 
for  the  love  of  a  virtuous  woman  and  had  passed  his  life  in 
disappointment  and  regret;  he  who  less  than  a  month  ago 
had  looked  upon  his  future  as  almost  without  hope,  was  now 
daring  to  dream  of  happiness  such  as  in  the  wildest  visions 
of  his  youth  he  had  never  imagined  possible.  Was  it  pos- 
sible now  ?  A  few  short  hours  would  answer  the  question. 

He  sat  in  his  library  wreathing  clouds  of  smoke  from  a 
fragrant  Cabana,  thinking  deeply,  as  was  his  wont  when  thus 
engaged ;  forming  plans,  abandoning  others,  and  providing 
in  his  mind  for  all  possible  contingencies  attendant  on  suc- 
cess or  fajlure.  Sarah  was  safely  provided  for,  the  details 
of  his  journey  were  settled  upon,  his  business  affairs  were  in 
order.  Two  things  were  still  to  be  arranged.  He  had  not 
yet  determined  in  regard  to  the  advisability  of  retaining  Mr. 
Freeling  as  his  agent,  and  he  had  not  yet  told  Margaret 
Leslie  in  words  how  much  he  loved  her. 

Relative  to  the  first  he  found  it  difficult  to  decide.  Every- 
thing connected  with  his  property  was  arranged.  To  dis- 
miss Freeling  would  necessitate  a  change  in  many  matters, 
and  might  delay  bis  departure  two  or  three  weeks.  He 
had  become  fully  convinced  of  the  agent's  lack  of  principle, 
and  could  scarcely  bear  the  thought  of  continuing  the  asso- 
ciation. There  had  been  no  open  quarrel,  but  when  Free- 
ling  came  for  an  explanation  relative  to  Mrs.  Langley's 


213  ROBERT   8E VERNE. 

rent,  Severne  had  given  him  very  clearly  to  understand  that 
he  was  acquainted  with  all  the  particulars  of  his  scheme. 

Freeling's  disappointment  and  chagrin  had  been  complete. 
He  had  failed  in  a  measure  of  revenge  upon  which  he  had 
set  his  heart,  but  he  was  not  subdued.  He  had  reflected 
upon  the  matter  of  his  relations  with  Severne,  and  he  had 
confirmed  himself  in  the  determination  to  retain  the  agency 
if  possible.  To  humble  himself  before  his  employer  and  at 
the  same  time  entertain  feelings  of  the  bitterest  hostility  to- 
ward him,  was  so  entirely  consonant  with  his  nature  that  he 
resolved  to  see  what  could  be  done  by  this  means.  He 
owed  a  great  deal  to  Severne,  but  he  was  one  of  those  mon- 
strosities of  human  nature,  whom  God  for  some  wise  purpose 
beyond  our  ken  occasionally  creates,  who  take  a  fiendish 
delight  in  injuring  those  to  whom  they  are  most  indebted, 
and  in  mounting  to  power  through  their  destruction.  He 
waited,  therefore,  for  an  opportunity  of  injuring  Severne, 
and  it  was  almost  essential  to  his  success  to  retain  his  pres- 
ent position.  With  every  affectation  of  regret  he  had  ac- 
cordingly begged  Severne  to  overlook  his  conduct  relative 
to  Mrs.  Langley.  He  had  confessed  that  he  had  been 
actuated  by  a  feeling  of  revenge,  but  had  offered  in  excuse 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  man  liable,  like  all  other  men,  to  err, 
and  that  his  anger  against  Mrs.  Langley  had  been  but  of 
short  duration,  and  had  now  entirely  disappeared.  He  had 
even  been  to  this  lady  to  acknowledge  his  wrong,  and  had 
succeeded  in  inducing  her  to  intercede  with  Severne  for  him. 

Severne  had  listened  to  all  that  Mr.  Freeling  had  to 
allege  in  his  behalf,  and  had  given  due  consideration  to 
Mrs.  Langley's  request.  Upon  a  full  consideration  of  all 
the  circumstances  of  the  case,  he  could  find  nothing  to  ex- 
tenuate the  agent's  misconduct,  and  he  was  entirely  con- 
vinced that  it  would  be  highly  proper  to  dispense  with  his 
services  for  the  future.  Still  there  was  a  strange  fascina- 
tion for  him  in  the  study  of  Freeling's  character,  of  which 
he  now  began  to  comprehend  the  salient  points,  and  he  re- 
flected that  his  own  affairs  were  in  such  a  condition  now 
that  it  would  be  almost  impossible  for  the  agent  to  do  him 
any  injury  in  that  direction.  "I  will  let  him  alone,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  reclined  in  his  comfortable  chair  studying 
the  gyrations  of  a  revolving  ring  of  smoke  he  had  succeeded, 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  %  219 

after  several  failures,  in  constructing.  "  If  he  does  not  suc- 
ceed in  hanging  me  or  himself,  it  shall  not  be  for  want  of 
rope.  I  think  I  understand  him  completely.  He  hates  me 
with  a  most  satanic  fervor.  It  will  be  interesting  to  keep 
au  courant  with  his  machinations.  To  be  forewarned  is  to 
be  forearmed,  however. 

"  One  thing  more  remains  to  be  done,  and  this  night  will 
witness  its  accomplishment.  If  she  loves  me,  my  happiness 
in  this  world  will  be  complete,  and  I  can  return  to  my 
adopted  country  with  a  heart  full  of  trust  and  hope.  I  must 
see  her  grandfather  though  first,  and  get  his  consent.  I 
have  no  fear  as  to  what  my  old  friend  will  say.  Three 
o'clock, "he  continued,  looking  at  his  watch.  "I  must  hurry 
off  if  I  mean  to  catch  him  before  he  leaves  the  shop.  Where 
could  there  be  a  better  place  in  the  world  for  such  a  confer- 
ence than  'the  den'  where  he  and  I  have  passed  so  many 
pleasant  hours  ?" 

John  Holmes  was  in  his  den,  engaged,  as  usual,  in  writing. 
He  was  always  glad  to  see  Severne,  however,  and  imme- 
diately ceased  his  labor,  and  turning  to  his  friend  began  to 
converse  upon  certain  topics  of  the  day  which  were  attract- 
ing a  good  deal  of  attention  from  literary  and  scientific 
persons. 

"My  dear  old  friend,"  said  Severne,  "do  you  think  I 
would  ride  all  the  way  down  here  in  a  crowded  omnibus,  on 
such  a  hot  day  as  this,  too,  to  talk  about  such  matters?  I 
have  come  on  an  affair  that  concerns  us  both  personally, 
and  which  is  intimately  connected  with  my  happiness." 

John  Holmes  looked  at  Severne  for  a  moment,  as  if  try- 
ing to  divine,  from  a  study  of  his  countenance,  what  the 
subject  was,  but  apparently  not  succeeding,  he  said: 

"  I  need  not,  I  am  sure,  tell  you  that  you  have  only  to 
mention  in  what  way  I  can  be  of  service  to  you  in  order  to 
insure  my  co-operation  in  anything  that  you  may  think  de- 
sirable for  your  welfare.  We  have  not  been  friends  these 
ten  years  for  nothing." 

"I  shall  not  take  an  unfair  advantage  of  your  promise.  I 
believe  you  have  confidence  enough  in  me  to  know  that  I 
would  not  ask  you  to  do  anything  which  was  not  right.  But 
I  am  not  going  to  make  any  long  prelude  to  my  application. 
I  have  become  convinced  that  I  love  your  granddaughter, 


220  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

and  I  have  come  to  request  your  permission  to  ask  her  for 
her  hand." 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  John  Holmes's  manner.  He 
rose  from  his  seat,  and  grasping  Severne's  hand,  said,  while 
his  eyes  become  moist  with  pleasurable  emotion  : 

"  My  dear  friend,  there  is  no  man  in  the  world  I  would 
rather  give  her  to  than  you.  I  have  thought  within  the 
last  two  weeks  that  I  might  be  called  upon  to  resign  her  to 
you,  but  I  had  no  idea  matters  had  proceeded  so  far.  Hep 
happiness  is  very  dear  to  me,"  he  continued.  "  I  love  her 
above  all  earthly  things,  and  I  would  rather  die  than  do  an 
act  which  would  give  her  a  single  pang  of  sorrow.  You 
have  said  nothing  to  her  yet,  and  do  not  know  how  she  re- 
gards you  ?" 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  Severne.  "  I  have  sometimes 
thought  there  was  a  stronger  feeling  for  me  than  friendship, 
but  I  am  uncertain.  I  think,  however,  that  I  have  reason- 
able grounds  for  hope,  and  I  propose,  with  your  approval, 
to  ascertain  my  fate  this  evening." 

"I  see,  of  course,  more  of  her  than  you  do,"  said  John 
Holmes.  "  Perhaps,  however,  that  assertion  is  not  correct 
as  regards  the  last  two  weeks," he  continued,  smiling;  "but, 
at  any  rate,  I  know  her  better  than  you  do.  You  will  not 
object,  I  am  sure,  if  I  tell  you  that  I  have  formed  the  opinion 
that  she  has  become  strongly  attached  to  you.  She  is  so 
truthful  and  so  honest  that  even  her  modesty  cannot  alto- 
gether prevent  my  watchful  eye  detecting  little  evidences  of 
her  regard  for  you." 

"You  have  made  me  very  happy,  my  dear  friend,  by  what 
you  have  said,  and  I  do  not  believe  you  will  ever  regret  the 
consent  you  have  given.  If  Margaret  does  not  love  me,  that 
is,  of  course,  the  end  of  the  whole  affair.  Much  as  I  love 
her,  I  love  her  too  well  to  think  of  trying  to  induce  her  to 
marry  me  unless  she  is  sure  her  happiness  would  be  secured 
by  the  union." 

"  Perhaps,  before  you  definitely  decide  on  so  important  a 
step  as  asking  her  to  marry  you,  you  ought  to  know  some- 
thing of  her  father  and  mother,  and  of  her  pecuniary  pros- 
pects." 

"I  know  she  is  the  daughter  of  your  daughter,"  said  Sev- 
erne, "  that  her  father's  name  was  Leslie,  and  that  he  has 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  221 

been  dead  for  many  years.  As  to  her  pecuniary  prospects, 
it  will  not  affect  my  intention  one  way  or  the  other  whether 
you  tell  me  she  is  to  receive  ten  millions  of  dollars  or  te'n 
cents  at  your  death,  which  I  hope  will  never  take  place 
during  her  or  my  lifetime." 

"  There  is  something  more  than  that  which  you  ought  to 
know,"  said  John  Holmes,  gravely.  "  Her  father,  Richard 
Leslie,  was  a  very  bad  man,  and  caused  the  death  of  her 
poor  mother  by  his  ill  treatment.  He  was  a  gambler,  a 
drunkard,  and  a  forger;  Margaret  never  saw  him,  nor  has 
he,  so  far  as  I  know,  been  in  this  country  since  her  birth. 
He  disappeared  then,  and  I  have  never  heard  of  him  since." 

John  Holmes  persevered  till  he  had  given  an  outline  of 
Richard  Leslie's  misdoings,  notwithstanding  Severne's  re- 
peated attempts  to  interrupt  him.  He  was  resolved,  with 
an  honest  determination,  that  the  latter  should  not  act 
blindly  in  a  matter  which  it  was  so  important  he  should 
thoroughly  understand. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  your  sake  and  that  of  Margaret's 
mother,"  said  Severne,  "that  Mr.  Leslie  should  have  been 
so  bad  a  character  and  have  accomplished  such  wickedness. 
I  do  not  see,  however,  what  relation  it  has  to  my  marriage 
with  your  granddaughter.  I  know  that  she  is  as  good  as 
God  ever  made  woman,  and  that  is  enough  for  me." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  John  Holmes,  "  I  think  you  are  right. 
I  thought  it  my  duty,  however,  to  tell  you  this  much.  I 
shall  give  Margaret  fifty  thousand  dollars  on  her  wedding- 
day,  and  she  will  have  two  hundred  thousand  more  when  I 
die." 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  said  Severne.  "I  should  have 
no  sort  of  objection  to  your  endowing  your  granddaughter 
with  all  the  riches  of  the  earth,  if  you  possessed  them. 
Personally,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  is  a  matter  of  the 
most  perfect  indifference ;  she  will  appreciate  your  kind- 
ness, and  I  will  also,  as  I  would  any  other  act  of  good  will 
to  her.  If  she  becomes  my  wife,  I  will  take  care  that  she 
never  has  a  wish  ungratified  that  a  moderate  degree  of 
wealth  can  give  her.  So,  my  dear  friend,  as  far  as  we  are 
concerned,  the  matter  is  settled.  You  have  acted  just  as 
I  thought  you  would,  and  I  can  never  say  all  I  want  to  say 
in  the  way  of  thanks." 

20 


222  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"You  owe  me  no  thanks,  Severne,"  replied  John  Holmes. 
"I  know  you  will  make  her  a  good  husband,  and  I  am  suffi- 
ciently rewarded  in  being  able  to  look  forward  with  confi- 
dence to  the  realization  of  that  anticipation." 

"By-the-by,"said  Severne,  as  he  was  about  to  take  his  de- 
parture, "there  is  another  matter  I  had  almost  forgotten. 
Have  you  heard  or  seen  anything  of  my  friend  de  Hutten  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  was  here  yesterday,  and  was  rejoiced  that  you 
bad  got  his  ancestor's  book.  There  is  a  mystery  about  him 
which  I  do  not  understand  yet.  He  took  his  money  and 
hurried  off  with  it,  saying  that  he  might  possibly  be  back  in 
New  York  before  th<5  year  was  out.  He  requested  me  to 
say  to  you  that  he  regretted  the  impossibility  of  meeting 
with  you  now,  but  that  when  he  returned  he  hoped  to  have 
that  pleasure.  He  went  to  St.  Louis." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  meet  with  him  there.  I  shall  never  re- 
gret having  purchased  his  book,  for  besides  being  an  unique 
specimen,  it  is — what  is  seldom  the  case  with  bibliographical 
rarities — a  literary  treasure.  I  have  never  read  a  work  on 
the  faculties  of  the  mind  which  was  more  philosophical  in 
its  plan  and  in  its  treatment  of  the  subject.  Good-by,  my 
dear  old  friend,"  he  continued,  as  he  shook  John  Holmes's 
hand;  "you  will  know  my  fate  soon  after  I  learn  it.  Why, 
what  has  become  of  Goodall  ?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  passed 
into  the  shop.  "  That  reminds  me  that  I  did  not  see  him 
when  I  came  in." 

"  He  has  gone  into  the  country  for  a  few  days.  He  left 
good-by  for  you.  He  always  takes  an  excursion  to  the 
trout  region  every  summer.  Fishing  in  the  mountain  streams 
is  the  only  one  of  the  so-called  sports  he  cares  for." 

Severne  expressed  his  regret  at  not  seeing  him,  and  jump- 
ing into  an  empty  hack  which  stood  near  the  door,  was 
driven  to  his  own  home. 

"  There's  a  man  in  the  reception-room  waiting  for  you, 
sir,"  said  Wilson.  "  I  informed  him  that  you  would  not  be 
home  till  dinner-time,  but  he  said  he  would  wait,  as  he  had 
business  of  importance.  I  told  him  to  wait  in  the  reception- 
room  because  he  said  he  knew  you  very  well,  sir." 

"Why,  Joshua,  how  are  you?"  exclaimed  Severne,  as 
that  individual  came  out  into  the  hall.  "Nothing  wrong  at 
home,  I  hope  ?" 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  223 

"Yes,  sir,  there's  an  awful  lot  of  wrong  agoing  on  there. 
Not  about  anybody  you  care  for,"  he  continued,  observing 
Severne's  look  of  alarm.  "  She's  well  enough.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about  it,  if  you  please,  sir.  I  know  you  are  a 
learned  man,  and  though,  with  my  worthy  friend,  Henry 
Cornelius  Agrippa,  Knight,  I  despise  all  the  arts  and  sci- 
ences without  exception,  the  force  of  the  habit  into  which 
I've  got  is  too  strong  for  my  feeble  sense  of  what  is  right." 

"Very  well,  Joshua,"  replied  Severne,  amused  at  the  ha- 
rangue, "come  up  into  the  library  and  tell  me  all  about  your 
troubles  at  your  ease.  I  have  an  hour  which  shall  be  at 
your  service." 

They  proceeded,  therefore,  to  the  library.  Joshua  took 
a  calm  survey  of  the  room  and  its  contents,  and  then  began. 

"I  suppose,  sir,  you  know  all  about  my  worthy  friend, 
Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  Knight?" 

"I  know  something  about  him.  I  think  I  have  all  his 
works." 

"If  it  is  not  being  too  exacting,"  said  Joshua,  modestly, 
"  I  would  like  you  to  give  me  your  opinion  of  that  great 
man." 

"You  want  my  candid  opinion,  Joshua?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,  certainly!" 

"Well  then,  Joshua,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  expressing  it 
as  my  deliberate  conviction,  that  of  all  the  sillv,  shallow,  and 
bombastic  mountebanks  that  ever  put  pen  to  paper,  Henry 
Cornelius  Agrippa,  Knight,  etc.,  stands  in  the  front  rank." 

"  You  think  he  was  a  fool,  then  ?" 

"He  was  both  fool  and  knave." 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir.  He  has  been 
a  great  consolation  to  me,  and  if  I  had  followed  his  advice 
and  kept  away  from  chemistry  and  poetry  and  such  like  van- 
ities, I  might  have  been  a  better  and  a  wiser  man.  But  I 
will  not  detain  you,  sir,  with  any  criticisms  on  him.  I'm 
very  sorry,  though,  you  don't  like  him.  He  always  had  his 
enemies,  poor  man ! 

"There's  a  woman  at  our  house,"  continued  Joshua, 
plunging  at  once  in  medias  res,  "and  she's  at  the  bottom 
of  all  my  troubles,  as  there  is  always  a  woman  at  the  bottom 
of  all  troubles.  Her  name  is  Markland,  and  for  these  two 
years  and  more  I've  loved  that  woman  in  a  way  that  men 


224  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

don't  often  love  women.  I  saw  that  she  had  her  little  fail- 
ings of  one  kind  and  another,  and  I  set  myself  to  work, 
after  my  own  fashion,  to  cure  her  of  them.  Well,  sir,  grad- 
ually I  got  her  rid  of  all  of  them,  which  would  not  be  be- 
coming in  the  wife  of  a  man  of  science,  except  one,  and  that 
was  the  worst  of  all.  She  would  talk  to  me  about  her  late 
husband,  telling  me  how  much  he  loved  her,  and  what  a  fine 
man  he  was,  and  repeating  all  ihe  ridiculous  things  he  ever 
said  in  his  life.  He  was  a  circus-rider,  and  every  time  I 
went  into  her  sitting-room,  I  was  told  about  his  elegant  per- 
formances, and  made  to  look  at  his  photographs  hanging  on 
the  wall,  and  a  lot  of  other  relics  she  had  of  him.  Strong 
diseases  require  strong  medicines,  you  know,  sir,  so  I  de- 
termined to  use  them  too.  So  the  night  the  robbery  was 
attempted,  I  went  into  her  room,  and,  after  a  little  talk  in 
the  old  way,  I  told  her  I  was  going  to  cure  her,  and — she 
making  no  objection  whatever — I  took  all  the  pictures  and 
other  relics  and  made  a  pile  of  them,  and  then  I  smashed 
them  with  a  flat-iron.  «. 

"It  was  a  little  too  much  for  her,  so  she  fainted,  or,  as  I 
believe  now,  she  pretended  to  faint.  Of  course,  sir,  I,  being 
a  human  being,  and  not  by  any  means  a  cruel  one,  either, 
felt  as  if  I  had,  may  be,  gone  a  little  too  far,  and,  besides, 
I  really  did  like  her,  too.  So  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife  in 
my  own  way.^nd  she  said  she  would,  and  we  went  along  as 
easy  together  as  quicksilver  and  gold.  I  thought  we  were 
going  to  make  a  perfect  amalgam ;  but  it's  all  changed  now, 
and  it's  as  bad  a  piece  of  business  as  any.  I  ever  had  in  nay 
life." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Joshua,"  said  Severne,  "that  the  mat- 
ter should  have  had  so  unfortunate  a  termination ;  perhaps 
it  is  not  yet  past  remedy." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it's  clean  past  all  cure  now,  and  this  is  why. 
Of  course  I  couldn't  spend  all  my  evening  with  her,  having, 
as  you  know,  to  attend  to  Mr.  Holmes's  laboratory,  so  I  left 
her,  everything  being  as  smooth  between  us  as  if  we  were  a 
mixture  of  oil  and  alkali.  When  we  had  got  through  fixing 
things  for  the  robbers,  I  thought  I  would  just  go  and  see 
how  she  was  getting  along,  and  to  comfort  her  a  little  about 
the  burglary  that  was  to  come  off.  I  went  to  her  room 
again,  and  there  she  was  sound  asleep.  She  was  talking, 


ROBERT   SEVEUNE.  225 

and  I  thought  I  would  listen  a  little,  expecting,  as  I  had  a 
right  to,  that  she  would  be  saying  things  appropriate  to  the 
circumstances.  Well,  sir,  I  was  astounded  to  hear  her  speak- 
ing of  me  in  a  way  that  almost  made  my  blood  boil.  She  was 
congratulating  herself  on  having  g«t  me  at  last,  and  threat- 
ening what  she  would  do  when  she  had  me  completely  in 
her  power,  and  then  she  seemed  to  be  having  a  quarrel  with 
me  in  a  dream,  and  she  called  me  a  fool.  Now,  sir,  I  may 
not  be  a  Berzelius,  or  even  a  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  but  I  am 
not  a  fool.  And  I  ask  you,  sir,  whether  that  wasn't  more 
than  flesh  and  blood  could  bear  ?" 

"  It  was  not  exactly  suitable  to  the  occasion,  I  must  say," 
said  Severne.  "  But  perhaps  Mrs.  Markland's  dreams  go 
by  contraries,  like  those  of  the  Irishman  in  the  song." 

"  No,  sir,  not  a  bit  of  it.  There  was  too  much  heart  in 
her  words  for  that.  So  I  went  away  and  shut  the  door  after 
me,  and  the  robbers  came, — and,  would  you  believe  it,  sir? — 
she  never  heard  the  explosion,  nor  knew  anything  about  it  till 
next  day,  when  she  heard  it  from  the  servants.  Of  course 
my  feelings  were  such  that  I  kept  away  from  her,  and  then 
she  came  up  to  me,  and  asked  me  why  I  had  not  told  my 
dear  Adelina  all  about  the  robbers,  and  I  told  her  she  was 
no  dear  Adelina  of  mine.  And  then  she  looked  as  if  she 
was  going  to  faint  again,  but  I  told  her  it  was  no  use,  and 
that  I  had  heard  her  talk  of  me  in  a  way  no  woman  should 
talk  of  the  man  who  was  to  be  her  husband,  and  that  she 
must  get  the  doctor  to  give  her  some  medicine  to  stop  her 
talking  in  her  sleep.  Well,  she  colored  up  as  red  as  blood 
could  make  her,  but  she  saw  I  had  the  advantage  of  her,  and 
she  walked  off  without  saying  a  word.  I  thought  that  was 
the  end  of  it;  but  yesterday  she  sent  me  a  bill  for  ten  photo- 
graphs, twenty  dollars  each ;  a  bunch  of  wax  flowers,  twenty- 
five  dollars ;  antl  a  cup  and  saucer,  fifty  dollars, — two  hundred 
and  seventy-five  .dollars  in  all.  Of  course  I  refused  to  pay 
it,  but  wrote  her  word  I  would  get  other  photographs  that 
would  do  as  well  as  those  I  had  mashed,  and  other  wax 
flowers,  and  cup  and  saucer.  But  she  won't  take  them,  and 
writes  me  again  that  if  I  don't  pay  her  bill,  she  will  put  it 
in  the  hands  of  a  lawyer,  and  have  me  indicted,  besides,  for 
malicious  mischief.  I  tell  you,  sir,  if  ever  there  was  a  she- 
devil,  Mrs.  Markland's  one,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Joshua  !" 

20* 


ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"  I  am  very  much  surprised  by  what  you  tell  me,"  said 
Severne,  scarcely  able  to  restrain  his  features  from  relaxing 
into  a  broad  smile  at  the  ludicrous  termination  of  Joshua's 
matrimonial  adventure.  "  She  has  always  appeared  to  me 
to  be  a  very  respectable  and  well-behaved  woman." 

"  Oh,  she's  respectable  enough,  I  suppose,  and  well-be- 
haved enough,  too,  to  Mr.  Holmes  and  Miss  Margaret; 
she  knows  her  place,  as  far  as  they  are  concerned.  But  I 
am  not  free  to  speak  my  mind  about  her  in  public,  for  she 
said  if  ever  I  dared  to  open  my  mouth  against  her,  she'd  sue 
me  for  libel,  too." 

"  Have  you  mentioned  the  matter  to  Mr.  Holmes  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  I  didn't  like  to  speak  about  it  to  him,  because, 
you  see,  sir,  I've  always  told  him  she  was  a  fool  and  a  hum- 
bug, and  I  know  he  would  laugh  at  me  and  tell  me  I  was 
another." 

"You  have  not  told  me  yet  how  I  can  help  you,"  said 
Severne. 

"  You  are  going  away,  sir,  I  hear,  in  a  few  days,  and  I 
would  like  to  go  with  you.  I  am  not  above  doing  honest 
work  of  any  kind  for  my  living.  I  was  born  in  Swatara 
Township,  Dauphin  County,  Pennsylvania,  and  was  brought 
up  on  a  farm.  I  can  take  care  of  horses,  black  boots,  or 
do  anything  in  that  line  you  might  want.  I  got  a  good 
education  at  the  Middletown  Academy,  and  then  went  to 
Philadelphia,  where  I  was  janitor,  and  took  care  of  the 
chemical  room  inthe  University.  Then  I  came  to  Mr.  Holmes, 
and  I've  learned  an  awful  amount  of  valuable  matter  from 
him.  I'll  tell  you,  sir,  though  I've  never  told  mortal  man 
before,  that  I've  invented  a  new  kind  of  gunpowder  that 
beats  the  old  all  to  pieces,  and  I'm  going  to  apply  for  a 
patent." 

"Your  application  requires  consideration,  Joshua,  and 
before  deciding  upon  it,  you  must  give  me  permission  to  state 
the  matter  to  Mr.  Holmes  and  obtain  his  consent,  in  case  I 
should  conclude  to  take  you  with  me." 

"  That  is  all  right,  sir ;  I've  no  manner  of  objection  to  your 
mentioning  it,  only  I  would  not  like  to  do  it  myself.  You 
see,  he  is  going  away  himself  in  two  or  three  months,  and 
will  not  return  before  you  do,  if  then." 

"Do  you  think  Mrs.  Markland  seriously  contemplates 
suing  you  ?y 


ROBERT    SB  VERNE.  22  f 

"  I  don't  know  about  that  for  certain.  Perhaps  she  only 
wants  to  frighten  me  into  marrying  her,  but  that  I  don't  in- 
tend to  do,  and  I  won't  pay  that  bill  either,"  said  Joshua, 
in  his  most  dogmatic  and  spasmodic  manner. 

"  I  have  no  idea  that  she  will  proceed  to  extremities," 
continued  Severne.  "  I  would  advise  you,  however,  to  re- 
place the  cup  and  saucer,  and  the  flowers,  and  as  it  is  per- 
haps impossible  to  get  copies  of  the  photographs,  give  her 
something  else  in  their  place.  As  to  the  application  you 
have  made,  I  will  see  Mr.  Holmes  about  it,  and  if  you  come 
to  me  some  time  to-morrow  I  will  give  you  an  answer." 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir.  There's  a  good  deal 
I  might  say  to  you  from  the  great  work  of  my  worthy  friend 
Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  Knight,  but  as  you  don't  believe 
in  him,  perhaps  I  had  better  not  allude  to  him  further.  I 
wish  you  good  evening,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN    WHICH    SEVERNE,    MARGARET,    AND    JOHN    HOLMES    ARE    SHOWN    TO 
BE    ON    THE    HIGH    ROAD    TO    HAPPINESS. 

THE  night  was  much  cooler  than  those  which  ordinarily 
belong  to  the  month  of  July  in  New  York.  A  thunder- 
storm had  occurred  late  in  the  afternoon,  laying  the  dust, 
freshening  the  atmosphere,  and  giving  a  delicious  perfume  to 
the  trees  and  flowers  with  which  John  Holmes's  garden  was 
filled.  Severne  and  Margaret  sat  upon  the  piazza  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  The  parlor  windows  were  open,  and 
the  light  which  streamed  through  enabled  them  to  see  each 
other's  faces,  and  thus  to  converse  with  more  pleasure  than 
they  could  have  done  in  the  dark.  If  we  are  unable  to 
observe  the  play  of  the  features  of  those  we  talk  with,  the 
most  tender  words  or  brilliant  sayings  lose  half  their  effect. 

John  Holmes  had,  as  usual,  gone  to  his  laboratory.  He 
had  never  been  afraid  to  leave  Margaret  alone  with  his 
friend,  and  on  this  night  he  had  excused  himself  earlier  than 


228  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

was  his  custom,  on  the  plea  of  important  operations  requir- 
ing his  personal  superintendence.  On  his  return  from  the 
shop  after  his  conversation  with  Severne,  he  had  said  no- 
thing to  his  granddaughter  relative  to  the  matter  in  which 
he  felt  so  great  an  interest.  There  was,  however,  perhaps 
a  little  more  gravity  in  his  manner  than  was  usual  with  him, 
and  he  kissed  her  forehead  with  more  fervor,  and  looked 
into  her  face  more  anxiously,  as  if  endeavoring  to  read  in 
the  light  of  her  violet  eyes  the  fate  which  might  be  in  store 
for  her. 

"  I  was  thinking,  Miss  Leslie,"  said  Severne,  after  a  short 
pause  in  the  conversation,  "that,  looking  back  upon  my  past 
life,  the  last  two  weeks  have  comprised  more  happiness  for 
me  than  all  the  years  of  my  existence  put  together.  I  can 
now  recall  without  regret  events  which  have  hitherto  always 
awakened  the  most  painful  recollections.  It  is  true  that 
the  temper  of  the  moment  influences  our  judgment  in  regard 
to  incidents  of  our  lives,  so  as  to  give  ns  pleasure  or  pain, 
as  the  case  may  be,  at  the  remembrance  of  great  misfortunes 
or  great  joys." 

"  We  never  know,"  said  Margaret,  "to  what  our  troubles 
will  lead  us.  We  think  when  they  occur  that  they  have  no 
redeeming  features  about  them,  but  it  rarely  happens,  I  think, 
that  they  do  not,  at  some  time  or  other  of  our  lives,  open  up 
in  our  hearts  joys  which  are  all  the  more  pleasurable  because 
they  are  unexpected." 

"  Two  weeks  ago,"  continued  Severne,  "  I  was  one  of  the 
most  miserable  of  men.  There  was  scarcely  a  memory  of 
the  past  that  was  not  gall  and  wormwood.  I  had.  been  de- 
ceived where  I  ought  to  have  met  with  confidence  and  truth. 
I  had  been  hated  where  I  ought  to  have  been  loved.  I  had 
been  treated  with  coldness  and  disdain  by  those  who  owed 
everything  to  my  favor;  and  worse  than  all,  my  home  had 
been  dishonored  by  a  wife  I  would  have  loved  even  now  had 
she  possessed  one  noble  womanly  quality.  I  had  seen,  with 
but  little  exception,  only  the  worst  side  of  human  nature. 
In  fact,  there  were  only  your  grandfather,  Mr.  Goodall,  and 
my  friend  Lawrence  for  whom  I  entertained  the  least  regard. 
I  loved  them,  but  I  believe  I  despised  all  the  world  beside. 
Now  I  feel  in  charity  with  all  men.  They  have  not  changed. 
It  is  I  who  have  been  metamorphosed  from  a  misanthrope 


ROBERT    SEVERXE.  229 

into  a  rational  being,  and  you,  Miss  Leslie,  have  caused  the 
transformation." 

"  I  ?"  said  Margaret,  with  an  accent  in  which  surprise 
and  pleasure  were  mingled,  while  her  heart  throbbed  wildly 
in  her  breast. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Leslie,  you ;  but  for  you  I  should  be  as 
wretched  to-night  as  I  was  two  weeks  since.  Do  you  care 
enough  for  me  to  be  glad  ?" 

"  I  am  very  glad  if  I  have  been  able  to  make  you  hap- 
pier." 

"  Two  weeks  ago,  Margaret,"  said  Severne,  taking  her 
little  hand  in  his,  while  he  looked  fearlessly,  fondly,  and 
truthfully  into  her  dark  blue  eyes, — "two  weeks  ago  I  would 
not  have  dared  to  say  to  you  what  I  am  going  to  say  now. 
I  would  not  have  been  so  dishonest  as  to  ask  you  to  love  a 
man  with  a  heart  so  full  of  bitterness  as  was  mine.  It  is 
different  now.  I  have  parted  with,  I  trust  forever,  the  dis- 
trust and  the  cynicism  which  pervaded  my  nature.  To  you 
I  owe  it  all.  And  when  I  tell  you,  as  I  do  now,  Margaret, 
that  I  love  you  as  I  never  have  loved  and  never  hoped  to 
love  human  being,  you  will  believe  me,  will  you  not?" 

Margaret  was  silent,  but  the  tears — tears  of  joyous  emo- 
tion— welled  up  into  her  eyes,  and  she  let  her  hand  lay 
trustingly  in  the  loving  grasp  of  him  who  had  opened  his 
heart  to  her. 

"Dear  Margaret," continued  Severne,  "do  you  love  me?" 

Still  she  was  silent ;  but  if  Severne  needed  any  more  elo- 
quent language  than  that  of  her  loving  eyes,  he  was  hard  to 
please. 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  drew  her  to  his 
heart. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  with  all  the  fervor  of  his  great 
love,  "will  you  trust  me  ?  will  you  give  me  thought  to  love 
you,  and  to  secure  my  own  happiness  by  laboring  for 
yours  ?" 

"  So  long  as  God  shall  give  me  life,"  she  said,  softly,  as 
she  hid  her  face  in  his  breast. 

"And  you  do  love  me,  dear  Margaret  ?"  he  whispered. 

"  With  my  whole  heart  and  soul,"  she  replied,  raising  her 
eyes,  and  looking  into  his.  "You  are  everything  in  this 
world  to  me.  Oh,  Robert,  can  I  make  you  happy  ?" 


230  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"I  am  happy  now,  dearest  Happy  in  the  knowledge 
that  I  possess  the  love  of  a  true,  virtuous,  and  noble  woman. 
Do  I  not  look  so  ?  Is  there  a  single  vestige  of  sorrow  in 
my  face?  My  darling,  if  there  is  a  happy  man  in  the  world 
I  am  that  man !"  As  he  said  these  words,  he  bent  down  to- 
ward her  and  kissed  her  sweet,  rosy  lips. 

"I  am  very  happy,"  said  Margaret,  all  her  fresh,  gushing 
frankness  returning  to  her.  "  I  have  wondered  whether  you 
really  loved  me  or  not.  Sometimes  I  was  sure  you  did,  and 
then  I  was  fearful  that  what  I  took  for  love  was  only  the  in- 
terest which  you  felt  in  me,  such  as  a  man  of  your  great 
kindness  of  heart  would  feel  for  a  child.  And  then  I  thought 
it  would  be  truly  selfish  in  me  to  wish  for  your  love,  unless 
you  felt  confident  that  in  giving  it,  you  would  be  adding  to 
your  own  happiness.  Now,  I  am  sure.  All  my  doubts  and 
fears  are  gone  forever." 

"  You  will  never  again  have  cause  for  fear  on  that  score, 
my  darling.  There  never  was  cause,  for  I  loved  you  almost 
from  the  first  moment  of  our  meeting." 

"I  am  sure  grandpapa  will  be  pleased.  He  has  always 
looked  upon  you  as  one  of  his  dearest  and  best  friends. 
Even  before  I  knew  you,  he  told  me  you  were  one  of  the 
truest  men  he  had  ever  known." 

"  He  knows  it  already.  I  told  him  this  afternoon,  and  he 
gave  me  his  consent  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  I  would  say  yes  ?"  said  Margaret,  with 
an  arch  smile. 

"  He  said  he  had  formed  the  opinion  that  you  had  become 
strongly  attached  to  me,"  replied  Severne,  smiling  in  return. 

"Why,  what  sharp  eyes  he  must  have  !"  said  Margaret, 
laughing.  "How  glad  he  will  be  when  he  finds  how  correct 
his  opinion  was!" 

"You  will  not  forget  me,  dearest,  while  I  am  absent?" 

"Forget  you! — absent  1"  exclaimed  Margaret.  "Oh,  I 
had  forgotten  that  you  are  going  away.  Must  you  go  ? 
And  so  soon,  too  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must.  It  would  disappoint  Lawrence  if 
I  refused  after  all  the  preparations  are  made.  And  yet  I 
never  in  all  my  life  felt  less  like  traveling  than  I  do  now. 
He  is  very  certain  that  it  is  necessary  for  my  health,  which 
was  very  bad  a  few  weeks  ago." 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  231 

"Then,  of  course,  you  will  go, "said  Margaret.  '"And  I 
shall  be  very  happy  during  your  absence — not  so  happy,  of 
course,  as  if  yon  were  with  me.  But  I  shall  think  of  you 
constantly,  and  I  shall  know  that  you  will  be  ever  thinking 
of  me." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  meet  in  Europe  and  come  home  to- 
gether." 

"How  delightful  that  would  be  I  We  could  not  possibly 
have  a  better  guide  than  you  to  the  art  collections  and  other 
sights  of  Europe.  You  have  traveled  all  over  it,  have  you 
not?" 

"  Very  nearly.  I  believe  I  have  been  in  every  country  of 
Europe.  But  now  my  journeying  will  be  mainly  in  regions 
of  which  I  know  nothing  but  what  I  have  picked  up  from 
other  persons  or  their  books." 

"  How  much  Sarah  will  miss  you !"  said  Margaret,  after  a 
little  pause,  during  which  the  lovers  were  deep  in  thought. 
"  She  seems  to  be  very  fond  of  you." 

"  I  think  she  is,"  replied  Severne.  "  I  am  very  certain 
she  has  a  great  deal  of  love  for  all  those  who  hare  befriended 
her.  She  improves  very  rapidly  in  everything  essential  to 
her  changed  position  in  life,  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that 
when  I  return  I  shall  find  her  fit  to  associate  on  equal  terms 
with  all  my  friends." 

"  I  am  very  sure  of  it,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  love  her  very 
dearly,  and  I  love  her  more  because  you  have  been  kind  to 
her.  Dear  Robert,"  she  continued,  looking  into  his  face 
with  an  expression  of  thorough  frankness  and  truth,  "I  be- 
gan to  love  you  from  the  moment  I  knew- of  all  your  good- 
ness to  her.  I  felt  then  that  your  love  was  the  one  thing  in 
all  the  world  which  I  should  always  prize  the  most." 

"  I  believe  I  told  you  once  before, "said  Severne,  smiling, 
"that  I  was  moved  by  the  most  thorough  selfishness  in  all 
that  I  did  relative  to  Sarah." 

"  Yes,  you  did,  and  it  is  the  same  sort  of  selfishness  which 
makes  you  love  me,  which  prompts  you  to  seek  your  happi- 
ness by  securing  mine.  And  I  suppose  you  will  be  telling 
me  next  that  your  love  for  me  is  a  very  selfish  feeling.  I 
hope  it  is.  It  is  the  kind  of  love  I  want  from  you,  and  it  is 
the  kind  I  give  you  in  return." 

It  is  very  probable  the  two  lovers  would  have  sat  on  the 


232  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

piazza  till  broad  daylight,  without  thinking  of  the  passing 
hours,  had  not  Severne  heard  sounds  which  convinced  him 
that  portions  of  the  house  were  being  closed  for  the  night. 
Looking  at  his  watch,  he  found  that  it  was  past  twelve 
o'clock. 

"Good  night,  ray  darling!"  he  said,  as  he  again  pressed 
her  to  his  heart  and  kissed  her.  "  God  forever  bless  and 
keep  you!" 

"  Oh,  my  love  !  my  love  1"  said  Margaret,  passionately,  as 
she  nestled  her  head  on  his  breast,  "  He  has  been  very  go'od 
to  us.  What  can  I  do  to  deserve  His  continued  favor?" 

"My  dear  Margaret,  if  we  trust  each  other,  God  will 
trust  us.  The  time  may  come  when  you  will  be  asked  to 
doubt  me.  I  may  not  be  present  to  defend  myself,  and  my 
good  name  may  be  aspersed  by  vile  calumnies,  which  can 
only  be  disproved  by  a  lengthened  investigation.  If  this 
should  happen,  you  will  remember  this  night,  and  you  will 
continue  to  have  faith  in  my  honor  and  my  love  ?" 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  for  an  instant,  dear  Robert  ?  Hence- 
forth my  life  is  bound  up  with  yours.  Whatever  others 
may  say  I  will  always  know  you  to  be  good.  You  have 
been  unhappy.  You  have  suffered  wrong,  I  am  sure,  but  I 
love  you  all  the  more  for  that,  and  I  almost  wish  my  love 
could  be  put  to  the  test,  as  you  seem  to  fear.  You  would 
then  see  how  strong  and  fervent  is  the  trust  I  repose  in 
you." 

"I  have  been  wronged,  deeply  wronged,  as  I  will  tell  you 
some  day,  and  further  trouble  may  be  in  store  for  me.  I 
do  not  know  why  I  should  think  so,  but  I  cannot  get  rid  of 
the  presentiment  that  lying  assertions  will  be  made  against 
me,  which  you  will  be  asked  to  believe.  I  ask  you  to  trust 
me,  even  should  everything  appear  to  be  adverse  ;  to  re- 
member that  I  stood  here  with  your  hand  in  mine,  and  in 
the  presence  of  God  told  you  that  there  was  no  reason  why 
a  pure  woman  should  not  give  me  her  love.  You  will  re- 
member this,  will  you  not,  my  darling?" 

"I  will  remember  it,  Robert.  1  will  never  lose  the  faith 
in  you  which  I  now  have." 

"  Then  I  shall  go,  sure  that  there  is  one  who,  at  the  worst, 
will  have  confidence  in  me.  That  thought  alone  will  make 
me  happy.  And  now,  dear  Margaret,  again  good  night!" 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  233 

And  their  lips  met  in  the  parting  kiss  of  their  first  meeting 
as  lovers  who  had  pledged  their  faith  to  each  other  for  the 
weal  or  woe  of  their  lives. 

Margaret  sat  on  the  piazza  after  he  was  gone,  thinking  of 
this,  the  greatest  joy  of  her  existence. 

"He  loves  me,"  she  said  to  herself;  "and  oh,  how  I  love 
him  !  He  has  suffered,  and  may  suffer  again.  He  will  then 
see  how  firm  is  my  love.  Let  them  slander  him  !  I  will 
take  his  word  before  that  of  all  the  world.  If  he  himself 
were  to  come  here  now  and  tell  me  he  had  spoken  falsely,  I 
would  not  believe  him.  N.othing  could  make  me  doubt 
him  I"  And  then  she  went  into  the  house,  and  going  to  the 
laboratory  door  knocked  at  it  softly,  and  then  opening  it  a 
little,  said : 

"May  I  come  in,  grandpapa  ?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear  child,"  said  John  Holmes,  looking 
up  at  her  with  an  inquiring  expression  on  his  face,  from  a 
little  agate  mortar  in  which  he  was  triturating  a  deep,  yel- 
low-colored powder. 

Margaret  entered  the  room,  and  standing  by  his  side,  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said  : 

"Dear  grandpapa,  I  am  going  to  be  Robert  Severne's 
wife." 

"  God  bless  you  and  him,  my  darling  !"  said  John  Holmes, 
putting  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  drawing  her  to  him 
till  her  cheek  rested  against  his.  "  He  is  worthy  of  you, 
my  dear  child,  and  you  are  worthy  of  him.  I  have  hoped 
for  this,  Margaret,  and  when  I  see  you  Robert  Severne's 
wife  I  shall  be  ready,  to  leave  the  world,  confident  that  he 
will  love  and  protect  you  better  than  ever  I  have  done." 

"I  shall  never  forget  all  you  have  done  for  me,  dear 
grandpapa,"  said  Margaret.  "All  I  have  in  the  world  I 
owe  to  you.  Your  care  has  made  me  what  I  am.  And  if 
I  am  worthy  of  Robert  Severne's  love,  it  is  you  who  have 
made  me  so." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  could  have  done  nothing  without  your 
constant  aid.  Your  virtues  are  all  your  own.  If  I  have 
assisted  you  to  develop  the  germs  which  God  planted  in 
your  heart,  I  am  content.  You  will  become  still  more  per- 
fect with  such  a  guide  as  Robert  Severne." 

21 


234  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"  Yes,  dear  grandpapa,  I  feel  that  I  will.  He  is  so  true 
and  noble,  so  generous  and  self-denying." 

"  He  is,  and  you  will  be  happy.  My  darling,  you  look 
very  beautiful  to-night,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile  of  infi- 
nite pleasure.  "  Did  he  tell  you  how  beautiful  you  are  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Margaret,  with  a  blush;  "he  said  nothing 
about  it.  But  you  must  not  ask  me  what  he  said." 

"I  do  not  intend  to,  my  dear  child,  but  I  am  so  proud  of 
your  beauty  that  I  want  every  one  to  see  it  too.  He  does 
see  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  If  I  please  him  in  this,  and  in  all  other  things,  dear 
grandpapa,  I  am  very  glad.  Good  night !" 

"  Good  night,  my  darling  1  What  you  have  told  me  has 
made  me  very  happy." 

Margaret  was  gone,  but  John  Holmes  continued  to  work 
in  his  laboratory.  "  Everything  in  the  world  seems  to  go 
well  with  me  now,"  he  said,  as  he  kept  on  triturating  the 
yellow  powder  in  the  agate  mortar.  "  My  darling  to  be  the 
wife  of  the  man  in  all  the  world  I  would  have  chosen  as 
her  husband,  and  my  labor  here  rapidly  coming  to  a  success- 
ful termination.  Strange,  too,  that  I  should  owe  this  last 
result  to  her,  as  I  believe  I  do.  If  she  had  not  shaken  the 
test-tube  that  day,  and  crystallized  the  solution  in  it,  I  might 
have  worked  on  for  years  without  getting  to  the  end.  How 
glad  she  will  be  when  I  tell  her,  as  I  will  as  soon  as  I  am 
absolutely  sure  !  Yes,  my  work  is  almost  done.  Lead  104, 
silicium  22,  sulphur  Ifi,  nitrogen  14,  oxygen  8,  hydrogen  1, 
nickel  30,  and  the  new  form  of  matter  which  my  dear  Mar- 
garet separated  by  crystallization  2,  and  here  is  the  grand 
total,  197.  What  a  singular  substance  this  new  form  of 
matter  is  !"  he  continued,  looking  at  the  mass  in  the  mor- 
tar. "  It  must  be  to  this  that  gold  owes  its  color.  Exactly 
twice  the  combining  equivalent  of  hydrogen  !  What  a  pretty 
story  the  account  of  its  discovery  will  make  !  I  have  only 
now  to  recorabine  my  materials  and  make  gold,  when  my 
work  is  ended,  and  I  rest  from  my  labors  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  my  life  has  not  been  in  vain.  My  God,"  he  con- 
tinued, covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  "  when  I  look  back 
upon  what  I  have  done  already,  I  am  almost  mad  with 
amazement !  Gold,  a  compound  substance  of  eight  different 
phases  of  matter !  One  of  them,  too,  hitherto  unknown, 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  230 

and  the  heaviest  ever  discovered.  What  name  shall  I  give 
it  ?  I  ought  to  call  it  after  my  dear  Margaret,  but  she  will 
like  it  better  if  I  name  it  after  one  she  loves  better  than  her- 
self— Severne.  I'll  call  it  Severniura.  He  deserves  the 
honor,  for  while  I  am  but  a  hewer  of  wood  and  a  drawer  of 
water  in  one  science,  he  is  a  thinker  and  a  generalizer  in  all. 
Yes,  that  shall  be  its  name.  What  will  the  world  say  when 
I  publish  the  results  of  my  researches  ?  What  they  do  in 
regard  to  other  discoveries  I  suppose.  First,  that  they  are 
false ;  second,  that  they  are  valueless ;  third,  that  there's 
nothing  new  in  them.  That  is  the  general  course  of  men's 
thoughts  relative  to  everything  of  the  kind.  What  do  I 
care  ?  Nothing.  I  am  networking  for  fame,  but  for  science, 
and  there's  a  very  great  difference  between  the  two.  As  a 
rule,  they  bear  an  inverse  ratio  to  each  other.  However,  I 
am  not  going  to  abuse  the  world  to-night.  I  am  too  happy 
for  that,  and  upon  the  whole  it  is  not  a  bad  world.  I  am 
very  sure  I  could  not  have  made  as  good  a  one.  It  has  not 
used  me  badly.  The  most  of  the  trouble  I  have  derived 
from  it  has  been  the  result  of  my  own  action.  The  death  of 
my  poor  dear  child  was  primarily  my  fault.  I  should  have 
guarded  her  better  and  kept  that  scoundrel  out  of  my  house. 
Well,  well,  I  must  not  think  of  that  now,  when  I  am  made 
so  happy  by  what  has  happened  to-night.  How  she  will 
miss  him  after  he  leaves  us  !  I  must  prepare  a  pleasant  sur- 
prise for  her  and  him,  by  arranging  matters  so  that  they  will 
meet  in  Europe.  I  was  quite  certain  she  loved  him,  although 
she  was  so  modest  and  coy  about  it  all.  There  is  not  a 
woman  in  the  world  who  when  she  loves  a  man  can  hide  it 
from  every  one's  eye.  And  I  would  not  give  a  cent  for  love 
that  could  be  entirely  concealed.  Such  a  passion  cannot  be 
very  strong.  But  the  love  that  fills  the  heart,  that  wor- 
ships its  object,  that  stirs  up  the  mind  continually  to  thoughts 
of  the  loved  one,  cannot  be  smothered ;  a  look,  a  tone,  a 
blush  will  some  time  or  other  reveal  it  to  those  who  are 
watching  for  it.  It's  a  strange  thing.  I  loved  once  my- 
self, and  only  once,  years  and  years  ago.  Pshaw  !"  he  con- 
tinued, getting  up  suddenly  and  going  into  his  bed-room, 
"why  can  I  not  stop  this  continual  recurrence  to  events  that 
have  forever  passed  away,  and  which  it  is  better  for  me  to 
forget  ?" 


236  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN    WHICH    SEVERNE    DISCOVERS    SARAH'S    PARENTAGE. 

WHEN  Severne  received  the  tin  box  of  Julia  Tompkins's 
letters  from  Mrs.  Wiggins,  he  put  it  into  a  drawer  of  his 
table,  intending  to  look  the  contents  over  that  evening. 
One  thing  and  another,  however,  had  interfered  with  the 
execution  of  this  purpose,  and  thus  the  day  previous  to  that 
fixed  for  his  departure  had  arrived,  and  the  letters  had  not 
been  examined. 

That  evening  he  was  to  see  Margaret  for  the  last  time  in 
many  months.  He  had  parted  with  Sarah  an  hour  before, 
and  now  sat  in  the  room,  where  the  reader  has  so  often  seen 
him,  surrounded  with  piles  of  papers,  which  he  had  arranged 
in  order,  and  which  he  was  putting  away,  till  his  return,  in 
the  drawers  of  his  writing-table.  In  opening  one  of  these 
he  came  across  the  box  of  letters  just  as  he  had  placed  it,  and 
he  was  thus  reminded  of  a  duty  which  he  ought  to  have  per- 
formed several  days  since,  and  which  he  had  been  in  danger  of 
forgetting  altogether.  He  took  the  box  out  of  the  drawer 
and  opened  it.  There  were  ten  letters,  all  directed  in  a 
firm,  business-like  hand,  to  Julia  Tompkins,  and  arranged 
in  accordance  with  their  dates,  which  were  indorsed,  in  a 
female  hand,  on  the  backs.  Severne -had  no  doubt  in  regard 
to  the  propriety  of  his  proceeding  to  make  himself  acquainted 
with  their  contents.  As  far  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
know,  Julia  Tompkins  was  dead  long  ago,  and  his  ward, 
her  daughter,  was  entitled  to  the  benefit  of  any  information 
which  these  letters  might  contain.  That  they  were  import- 
ant there  could  be  very  little  doubt. 

The  first  one  was  very  short,  and  was  word  for  word  as 
follows : 

STATE  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 
January  16lh,  1841. 

MY  DEAR  JULIA, — 

I  will  certainly  see  you  to-morrow ;  do  not  be  distressed 
at  the  idea  of  my  marriage.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  237 

save  me  from  ruin,  and  when  I  tell  you  this,  you  will  be  sat- 
isfied, I  know.  I  never  can  love  any  one  but  you  if  I  mar- 
ried a  thousand  times.  Good  night,  my  darling. 

Ever  yours,  R.  L. 

The  next  was  dated  in  February.  It  was  quite  long,  fill- 
ing four  sides  of  a  sheet  of  quarto  letter  paper.  The  last 
paragraph  was  as  follows  : 

"  I  find  I  have  married  a  smooth-faced  doll,  who  has  no 
more  life  or  strength  of  character  in  her  than*  a  white  mouse. 
I  shall  not  stand  it  long,  my  dearest.  A  few  more  months 
and  I  shall  have  got  matters  arranged  to  my  liking,  and 
then  we  will  go  off  together  to  a  home  of  our  own  that  I 
know  of." 

It  was  signed,  as  the  other,  with  the  initials  R.  L. 

The  next,  which,  with  the  two  preceding,  was  directed  to 
Albany,  was  more  important.  Severne  had,  as  yet,  read 
nothing  to  give  him  a  clew  to  the  mystery  which,  the  reader, 
with  his  or  her  superior  information,  has  already  divined. 
This  one,  however,  enlightened  him  fully.  It  was  as  follows : 

STATE  STREET,  NEW  YOKK, 
June  10th,  1841. 

MY  DARLING  JULIA, — 

Things  are  going  on  well.  I  have  already  succeeded  be- 
yond my  expectations  in  getting  the  better  of  old  Holmes, 
my  respected  father-in-law.  I  am  trying  to  disgust  my  wife 
— as  I  suppose  I  must  call  her — with  her  liege  lord,  and,  I 
flatter  myself,  I  am  succeeding  admirably.  She  seems  to 
be  pretty  fond  of  me  yet  (confound  her !),  but  I  am  quite  sure 
I  will  knock  all  the  sentimentality  out  of  her  before  long. 
You  know  that  I  am  a  pretty  good  fellow  when  I  have  taken 
a  little  drop  too  much,  but  this  fine  lady  of  mine  cries  over 
me  like  a  sick  kitten  if  I  come  home  later  than  ten  o'clock, 
or  with  an  extra  glass  of  toddy  in  me.  I  am  devilish  sorry 
to  receive  the  information  you  gave  me  in  your  last.  What 
will  we  do  with  the  brat  ?  I  suppose,  too,  my  lady  will  be 
making  rne  a^  present  also  before  long.  I  shall  not  give 
myself  much  anxiety  about  its  future  welfare,  however.  I 
will  try  and  see  you,  as  usual,  every  two  or  three  weeks, 

21* 


238  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

though  old  Holmes  watches  me  now  pretty  closely.  I  get 
off,  however,  on  the  plea  of  business  for  my  father.  That's 
good,  isn't  it  ?  I  think,  however,  you  had  better  move  a 
little  nearer  to  this  city.  How  would  you  like  Yonkers  ? 
It's  a  nice,  quiet  sort  of  place,  and  I  can  reach  you  in  a 
half  hour  or  so  without  exciting  the  suspicions  of  my  she 
dragon  or  her  stern  parent.  You  ought  to  be  there  by  the 
autumn  at  any  rate. 

Do  not  imagine  for  a  moment  that  I  will  ever  forget  you. 
I  mean  to  take  care  of  you  as  long  as  I  live,  and  I  hope  be- 
fore very  long  I  shall  be  free  to  cut  loose  from  the  strait- 
laced  party  I  have  been  obliged  to  make  use  of.  Good-by, 
my  little  Julie. 

Yours,  as  ever,  R.  L. 

When  Severne  had  finished  reading  this  precious  epistle 
he  laid  it  down  upon  the  table,  and  for  several  moments  was 
lost  in  deep  thought.  The  whole  matter  was  perfectly  clear 
to  him  now.'  Richard  Leslie  was  Sarah's  father  as  well  as 
Margaret's,  and  consequently  the  two  girls  were  half-sisters. 
The  resemblance  which  had  already  attracted  his  attention, 
but  which  no  one  else  appeared  to  have  noticed,  was  thus 
explained.  And  who  can  deny  that  the  instinctive  feeling 
of  regard  which  the  two  had  manifested  for  each  other  from 
the  first,  was  not  due  to  the  yearning  of  one  kindred  soul 
for  another  ? 

Though  this  letter  made  him  sick  at  heart  when  he  thought 
of  the  consummate  depravity  of  the  writer,  and  the  miserable 
life  which  the  mother  of  his  dear  Margaret  must  have  en- 
dured with  this  monster,  there  was  nothing  in  the  discovery 
of  the  relationship  between  the  girls  which  gave  him  any 
uneasiness.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  rather  pleased  than 
otherwise  that  it  existed,  for  it  could  not  but  tend  to 
strengthen  the  bond  of  friendship  between  Margaret  and 
Sarah  when  they  learned  that  the  blood  of  one  father  flowed 
in  their  veins,  vile  and  brutal  though  he  was,  and  his  own 
regard  for  the  one  could  not  but  become  stronger  through 
the  tie  which  he  now  knew  bound  her  to  the  woman  he  loved 
best  in  all  the  world.  . 

As  he  read  further,  he  became  certain  that  the  impression 
he  had  formed  relative  to  Richard  Leslie's  relationship  to 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  239 

Sarah  was  correct.  All  the  subsequent  letters  were  ad- 
dressed to  Yonkers  except  the  last,  which  was  directed  to 
110  Wayne  Street,  "N^ew  York.  As  this  contained  informa- 
tion of  importance,  Severne  read  it  over  several  times.  It 
confirmed  him  in  the  opinion  he  had  conceived,  and,  more- 
over, indicated  the  place  to  which  Leslie  had  gone  when  he 
left  New  York  the  night  of  his  wife's  death. 

STATE  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 
December  30M,  1841. 

MY  DEAR  JULIA, — 

I  expected  to  see  you  this  evening,  but  I  find  it  to  be  im- 
possible, and  therefore  I  am  forced  to  write.  I  think  we 
have  made  the  best  possible  disposition  of  our  little  Sarah. 
The  shoemaker  is  evidently  in  love  with  you,  and  will  take 
good  care  of  her  for  your  sake.  I  never  expect  to  see  my 
legal  encumbrance  at  all,  so  you  see  my  little  illegal  em- 
barrassment has  had  the  advantage  of  having  known  her 
illustrious  progenitor. 

I  hope,  as  I  told  you  yesterday,  to  have  everything  ready 
by  to-morrow  night  for  our  departure.  I  shall  then  finish 
my  plans  on  my  respected  father-in-law  with  a  coup  de  main 
which  will  astonish  him,  I  think.  Be  ready  therefore  to 
leave  early  on  New-year's  Day.  I  have  already  received 
enough  to  make  us  comfortable  in  Santa  Fe  during  the  re- 
mainder  of  our  lives.  We  must  be  in  St.  Louis  by  the  10th 
of  January,  and  at  Independence  by  the  18th.  There  will 
be  a  good  deal  for  me  to  do  in  both  places.  The  wagon 
train  starts  from  the  latter  town  on  the  20th.  A  winter 
trip  across  the  plains  is  no  very  pleasant  matter.  Mrs.  Les- 
lie will  be  rather  astonished  when  she  wakes  up  New-year's 
morning  and  finds  herself  minus  her  "dear  Richard,"  who 
will  then  be  on  his  way  to  a  happy  home  with  the  only 
woman  he  has  ever  loved. 

I  send  this  by  a  friend  who  will  give  it  to  you  promptly. 
Good-by,  then,  till  to-morrow  night. 

Yours  ever,  R.  L. 

This  letter,  of  course,  settled  the  matter  conclusively  in 
Severne's  mind ;  but  there  were  several  particulars  he  was 
desirous  of  obtaining,  if  possible,  so  he  rang  the  bell  and 


240  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

directed  Wilson  to  go  immediately  and  bring  Mrs.  Wiggins 
to  him.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  that  lady  made  her  ap- 
pearance. 

"  I  find,  Mrs.  Wiggins,"  said  Severne,  "  that  the  letters 
you  left  with  me  when  you  were  here  last  are  very  important, 
and  I  am  anxious  you  should  answer  as  concisely  as  possible 
a  few  questions  which  I  shall  ask  you. 

"  Do  you  recollect  the  precise  day  that  Julia  Tompkins 
left  Sarah  with  you  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,  sir,  I  knows  it  by  this,  that  on  that  day 
I  went  to  a  love-feast,  and  my  old  man  went  with  me,  and 
says  he,  '  Moll,'  says  he,  he  always  called  me  Moll  when  he 
wanted " 

"I  have  really  no  time  to  spare,  Mrs.  Wiggins,"  said 
Severne,  impatiently,  "  and  I  must  insist  on  your  answering 
my  questions  with  as  few  words  as  possible.  What  day  of 
the  month  was  it  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  was  just  goin'  to  tell  you  that  it  was  the 
very  last  day  of  the  year,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  its  just  eighteen  years  ago  next  last  of  December." 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Wiggins.  Was  there  any  one  with  her 
when  she  came  ?" 

"  Not  as  I  knows  on.  No,  there  was  not ;  I  remember 
now,  she  came  by  herself;  but  there  was  a  gentleman  with 
her  once  before  when  she  came,  as  John  said  was  Sal's 
father,  and  as  Julia  said  was  very  rich." 

"  Do  you  remember  his  name  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  his  whole  name,  sir.  I  remember  though 
as  Julia  called  him  Dick.  He  was  a  very  handsome  man, 
sir,  and  I  recollect,  as  John  said,  when  I  said, '  What  a  hand- 
some man  that  was  as  was  here  with  Jnle  Tompkins,'  John 
says,  says  he, '  Mary,  you'll  make  me  jealous, 'and  says  I " 

"And  Julia  disappeared  the  next  day?" 

"Certainly.  We  never  saw  anything  of  her  after  she 
brought  her  baby  to  our  house.  And  the  next  day  was 
New-year's  Day." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  that  Dick,  as  Julia  Tompkins  called 
him,  was  married  ?" 

"As  to  that,  sir,  I  really  don't  know  for  certain.  I  think 
he  was,  sir,  but  it  wasn't  to  Julia.  One  day  Jule  said  to 
Wiggins,  as  Wiggins  told  me,  '  Wiggins,'  says  she,  '  if  it 


ROBERT    SKVEUNK.  241 

wasn't  for  one  thing  I'd  be  livin'  in  splendor  and  ridin'  in 
my  carriage,  but  ray  day  will  come  yet,  for  there's  only  a 
sick  woman  in  the  way.'" 

"Yery  well,  Mrs.  Wiggins,  I  don't  think  there  is  any- 
thing else  I  wish  to  ask  you.  Does  anybody  know  that  you 
brought  those  letters  to  me  ?" 

"Why,  sir,  Brother  Jenkins  knows  it  of  course,  for  he 
was  with  me,  as  you  know.  And  he  said  as  I  ought  to  have 
kept  them,  for  they  was  very  valuable  letters.  And  he  asked 
me  last  night  whether  I  couldn't  get  them  again,  and  I  told 
him  no,  as  you  had  given  me  more  money  for  them  than  they 
was  worth  to  me." 

"They  are  worth  nothing  whatever  either  to  you  or 
Brother  Jenkins,"  said  Severue. 

"  That's  just  what  I  told  him,  sir,  but  he  said  as  how  he'd 
like  to  have  them  letters,  and  he'd  soon  see  what  they  were 
worth." 

"  He  never  will  have  them,  depend  upon  it.  Good-by, 
Mrs.  Wiggins;  take  this  for  the  trouble  I  have  given  you 
to-night,"  he  continued,  handing  her  a  bank  note,  "  and  don't 
let  Brother  Jenkins  or  any  one  else  fill  your  head  with  foolish 
notions." 

After  Mrs.  Wiggins  had  gone,  Severne  reflected  still 
further  upon  the  information  he  had  received,  and  though 
doubtful  as  to  the  expediency  of  informing  Margaret  and 
Sarah  of  their  relationship,  he  had  none  in  regard  to  the 
propriety  of  putting  John  Holmes  in  possession  of  all  the 
facts  which  had  so  singularly  come  to  his  knowledge.  He 
therefore  took  the  tin  box  with  its  contents  and  proceeded 
to  John  Holmes's  house.  He  inquired  for  his  old  friend 
at  the  door,  and  was  shown  into  the  library,  where  he  sat 
with  Margaret,  who  was  reading  the  last  novel  to  him 
while  he  was  enjoying  a  cigar,  the  fragrance  of  which  per- 
fumed the  room. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Severne,  after  a  few  minutes, 
during  which  he  had,  in  compliance  with  John  Holmes's  re- 
quest, lighted  a  cigar.  [Listen,  all  ye  wives  and  fiances. 
Margaret  never  objected  to  the  odor  of  a  good  cigar,  and 
John  Holmes  and  Severne  smoked  no  others.]  "  I  am  very 
sorry  to  break  up  this  tete-a-tete,  but  for  once  in  your  life,  mad- 
emoiselle, you  are  de  trap.  I  never  put  so  many  French  words 


242  ROBERT   BE  VERNE. 

into  an  English  speech  before, "he  continued;  "but  if  one  is 
obliged  to  say  a  disagreeable  thing,  a  word  or  two  from  what 
some  people  call  the  'language  of  the  politest  nation  on 
earth,'  helps  one  along  amazingly." 

"I  suppose  you  intend  to  intimate  that  my  presence  can 
be  dispensed  with,"  said  Margaret,  smiling. 

"  The  acuteness  of  your  perception  is  not  the  least  of  your 
good  qualities,  mademoiselle,"  said  Severne,  bowing  with 
mock  gravity.  "  I  do  not  know  which  most  to  admire,  the 
wonderful  depth  of  your  intuition  or  the  marvelous  knowledge 
you  possess  of  the  French  language." 

"  There,  sir,"  resumed  Margaret  in  the  same  vein,  as  she 
prepared  to  leave  the  room,  "you  need  not  say  another 
word ;  first,  you  tell  me  I  am  in  the  way,  and  then  you  make 
fun  of  me.  I  wish  you  good  evening,  gentlemen,"  she  con- 
tinued, making  a  stately  courtesy;  "when  you  have  mended 
your  manners,  and  evinced  a  sufficient  degree  of  repentance, 
I  may  be  induced  to  return." 

"My  dear  old  friend,"  said  Severne,  taking  a  seat  at  the 
table  by  John  Holmes's  side,  "I  have  just  become  possessed 
of  information  which,  apart  from  the  insight  it  has  given  me 
into  a  character  of  almost  inconceivable  depravity,  has  af- 
forded me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  Are  you  acquainted 
with  Richard  Leslie's  handwriting  ?" 

"As  well  as  with  my  own,"  replied  John  Holmes.  "It 
was  a  very  singular  handwriting.  He  always  wrote  with  a 
soft  quill  pen." 

"I  shall  not  say  a  word  till  you  have  read  these  letters," 
said  Severne,  putting  the  package  into  John  Holmes's  hands. 

While  his  friend  read  the  letters,  Severne  took  up  the 
evening  paper,  and  hiding  himself  behind  it,  smoked  and 
read  in  silence,  without  appearing  to  be  aware  of  the  emo- 
tions which  their  perusal  excited,  and  which  was  evidenced 
by  many  exclamations  of  anger  and  pity. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt,  my  dear  Severne,"  said  John 
Holmes,  when  he  had  read  the  letters  through,  "  in  regard 
to  the  true  state  of  affairs.  Sarah  Tompkins  and  my  dear 
Margaret  are  half-sisters.  And  it  was  for  the  woman  to  whom 
these  letters  are  addressed  that  my  shameless  and  depraved 
son-in-law  deserted  my  poor  child  and  broke  her  heart ! 
You  will  not  blame  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  find  it  diffi- 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  243 

cult  now  to  regard  the  offspring  of  this  wicked  union  with 
the  same  favor  as  before  I  knew  of  her  parentage  ?" 

"I  should  blame  you  a  good  deal,"  replied  Severne,  "if 
you  were  to  persist  in  telling  me  so  after  you  have  had 
sufficient  time  to  reflect  upon  the  matter  I  can  make  allow- 
ance for  all  the  feelings  which  must  necessarily  be  excited  in 
your  breast  when  you  think  of  the  contents  of  those  letters; 
but  God  alone  has  the  right  to  visit  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children,  and  he  has  already  punished  this  poor 
child  sufficiently  for  the  iniquities  of  her  father  and  mother. 
Is  she  not  now  expiating  their  crimes  in  the  consciousness 
that  she  is  not  worthy  of  the  favor  of  those  who  have  been 
kind  to  her  ?  Ask  her  if  her  life  has  been  a  happy  one,  and 
see  what  her  answer  will  be.  To  whom  is  she  indebted  for 
all  the  degradation  and  sin  which  have  hitherto  marked  her 
youthful  existence,  if  not  to  those  who  gave  her  life  ?  My 
dear  friend,"  continued  Severne,  walking  up  to  John  Holmes 
and  putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "you  must  not  forget 
that  our  dear  Margaret  is  his  child  too." 

"  Margaret  is  my  daughter's  child.  I  never  think  of  her 
as  the  offspring  of  Richard  Leslie." 

"  Have  it  so,  if  you  will,"  said  Severne,  gently ;  "  but  as 
you  love  Margaret,  give  a  portion  of  your  love  to  Margaret's 
sister." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  John  Holmes,  with  emotion,  grasping 
Severne's  hand.  "  I  will  try  honestly  and  fairly  to  love  her 
as  I  ought.  She  is  a  good  girl,  I  think." 

"  She  will  become  better  every  day  of  her  life,  and  you 
will  soon  come  to  regard  her  with  the  affection  which  is  her 
due.  Do  you  think  I  love  her  any  less  because  she  is  Mar- 
garet's sister  ?  If  I  had  hated  her  before  I  knew  of  the  re- 
lationship, I  would  love  her  now." 

"  You  are  right.  Poor  child!  how  different  has  been  her 
life  from  that  of  my  darling  !  Yes,  yes,  she  has  been  pun- 
ished enough  for  the  sins  of  her  parents.  We  must  be  kind 
to  her ;  we  must  strive  with  redoubled  efforts  to  make  her 
forget  the  past.  My  dear  friend,  you  must  allow  me  to  take 
the  charge  of  her  off  your  bauds,  in  view  of  my  relation- 
ship." 

"  Indeed  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Severne, 
smiling.  "  You  forget  that  I  am  one  of  the  family  now. 


244  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

You  may  go  up  and  look  at  her  occasionally,  and  she  may 
spend  a  day  or  two  now  and  then  with  you ;  but  you  must 
remember  that  I  found  her,  and  claim  her  by  right  of  dis- 
covery and  possession." 

"  Well,  well,  I  dare  say  you  will  not  object  to  my  doing 
all  I  can  for  her.  Does  she  know  of  her  relationship  to 
us?" 

"  Of  course  not,  nor  do  I  intend  to  tell  her  ;  I  shall  leave 
you  to  do  that  when  you  are  entirely  satisfied  the  time  has 
come  for  it.  No  one  knows  of  the  connection  but  you 
and  I." 

"  Do  you  think  she  ought  to  be  told  now  ?" 

"  Not  perhaps  now,  but  certainly  very  soon.  I  bade  her 
good-by  this  afternoon,  and  though  it  was  only  three  days 
since  I  saw  her,  I  was  astonished  at  her  improvement  in 
every  way.  She  could  not  have  been  more  affected  at  my 
approaching  departure  if  I  had  been  her  father;  and  Mrs. 
Langley  tells  me  she  is  as  affectionate,  high-toned,  and  lady- 
like in  her  demeanor  as  a  girl  need  be.  However,  I  leave 
the  matter  to  you,  confident  that  you  will  know  when  to 
act." 

"  I  am  going  to  take  Margaret  to  Lake  George  next 
week,"  said  John  Holmes,  "  and,  if  you  have  no  objection, 
would  like  to  have  Sarah  accompany  us.  I  will  tell  her  all 
then." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  you  do  so.  Ah,  my  dear 
old  friend,  I  was  sure  that  your  kind  heart  would  not  long 
stand  out  against  our  poor  Sarah.  I  leave  her  to  you  until 
you  go  to  Europe.  Mrs.  Langley  will  then  take  good  care 
of  her  till  we  return." 

"Severne,"  said  John  Holmes,  getting  up  from  his  chair 
under  the  excitement  of  the  idea  which  had  occurred  to  him, 
"  why  cannot  Sarah  go  with  Margaret  and  me  to  Europe  ? 
Let  us  arrange  matters  so  that  we  shall  meet,  say  in  Paris." 

"  Why,  there's  no  such  thing  as  stopping  you,  now  you  have 
got  started,"  said  Severne,  laughing.  "Take  her  with  you 
by  all  means ;  she  will  be  delighted,  and  so  will  I.  As  to 
meeting  you  all  in  Paris,  I  will  try  what  can  be  done 
toward  it.  Let  me  see,"  he  continued,  reflectively.  "In 
this  age  of  steam  I  ought  to  be  able  to  get  to  Paris,  by 
way  of  San  Francisco,  India,  and  Egypt,  by  the  first  of 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  245 

March.  Yes,  I  will  engage  to  meet  you  all  on  the  first  of 
next  March.  God  grant  it  may  be  a  happy  meeting." 

And  then,  after  a'  little  further  conversation  relative  to 
plans  for  the  future,  Severne  bid  John  Holmes  good-by,  and 
went  in  search  of  Margaret. 

Long  and  sweet  was  the  interview,  and  it  was  at  a  late 
hour  that  the  lovers  spoke  their  final  adieus.  "  May  God 
forever  bless  and  keep  you,  my  love,  my  love!"  said  Mar- 
garet, as  their  lips  met  in  the  last  kiss. 

"He  will,  ray  darling,''  said  Severne;  "whatever  may 
happen  in  the  mean  time  I  feel  sure  that  in  his  own  good 
season  he  will  make  us  happy  in  a  union  which  death  alone 
will  end  in  this  world.  Till  then,  dearest,  let  us  live  in  trust 
and  hope." 

The  next  morning,  Severne,  Lawrence,  and  Joshua,  who 
had  obtained  John  Holmes's  and  Severne's  consent  to  his 
making  one  of  the  party,  took  their  departure  at  an  early 
hour  for  the  boat.  Two  experienced  men-servants  accom- 
panied them,  and  others  acquainted  with  prairie  life  were  to 
be  obtained  at  St.  Louis.  In  every  other  respect  the  party 
was  well  supplied  with  all  the  paraphernalia  requisite  for  the 
peculiar  character  of  a  journey  across  the  vast  plains  of  the 
United  States. 

Joshua  left  in  exceedingly  good  spirits.  He  had  been 
told  of  John  Holmes's  great  success  in  his  alchemical  oper- 
ations, and  had  been  consistent  enough  to  be  disgusted  at 
the  fact  that  Margaret's  visit  to  the  laboratory,  and  its  con- 
sequences, which  he  had  used  ever  since  as  a  text  for  many 
orations  against  women,  should  have  resulted  so  very  differ- 
ent from  what  had  at  first  been  apprehended.  "It's  no  fault 
of  hers,"  he  grumbled,  "if  Miss  Margaret's  meddling  with 
things  she  did  not  understand  helped  to  get  19T  after  all. 
What  business  had  she  to  touch  test-tubes  and  shake  them 
up  ?  If  it  had  been  something  else,  she  would  have  ruined 
it,  so  it's  all  the  same  thing  so  far  as  she's  concerned." 

As  to  Mrs.  Markland,  no  change  had  taken  place  in  his 
relations  with  that  injured  lady.  He  had  persistently  refused 
to  pay  the  bill  she  had  presented  to  him,  and  the  indignant 
widow  had  kicked  into  the  back  yard  all  the  offerings  he 
had  brought  in  the  way  of  atonement  for  his  iconoclastic 
operations.  She  did  not  sue  him  as  she  had  threatened 

22 


246  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

to  do,  preferring,  apparently,  to  hold  the  rod  in  ierro- 
rem  over  him  for  anpther  occasion.  It  had  lost  its  power  to 
frighten  him,  however,  like  many  other  menaces  frequently 
employed,  but  never  carried  into  actual  effect.  The  fact 
was  that  Joshua  had  threatened  that  if  she  sued  him,  he 
would  make  a  full  expose  of  the  whole  of  his  love  affair  in 
open  court,  and  this  had  terrified  the  widow  into  a  whole- 
some fear  of  resorting  to  the  law  for  redress. 

Severne  had  left  the  key  of  his  library  with  Margaret,  in 
order  that,  as  he  had  promised,  she  might  make  use  of  his 
books  at  her  convenience  ;  he  had  given  the  keys  of  his 
writing-table  to  John  Holmes,  so  that  the  latter  might  get 
the  letters  of  his  son-in-law,  when  he  would  have  occasion 
to  use  them  for  Sarah's  enlightenment.  Nothing  had  been 
omitted,  by  Severne  which  a  far-reaching  prudence  and  fore- 
sight could  dictate.  Time  will  show  whether  the  results 
were  such  as  he  anticipated. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MB.  FREELING    SHOWS    HIMSELF    TO    BE    MASTER    OF    THE    SITUATION. 

A  MONTH  had  elapsed  since  the  occurrence  of  the  events 
detailed  in  the  last  chapter.  Severne  and  his  party  were 
far  out  on  the  prairies,  the  last  letters  which  had  been  re- 
ceived from  him  being  dated  at  Fort  Kearney.  The  purport 
of  them  to  Sarah  and  Margaret  can  readily  be  imagined  by 
the  reader,  and  need  not  therefore  be  quoted.  In  the  one, 
however,  to  John  Holmes,  he  said : 

"You  will  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you  that  my  former 
acquaintance,  Ulrich  de  Hutten,  forms  one  of  our  party.  He 
joined  us  at  Fort  Leavenworth,  and  begged  hard  to  be  al- 
lowed to  accompany  us.  He  is  exceedingly  entertaining, 
and  is  altogether  a  most  remarkable  man.  He  is  certainly 
a  lineal  descendant  of  the  great  de  Hutten,  but  there  is  a 
deep  mystery  in  regard  to  his  purposes  which  I  cannot 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  24  f 

fathom.  He  appears  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  some  person 
whom  he  expects  to  meet,  and  whom  he  evidently  intends  to 
injure  bodily  to  the  extent  of  his  ability.  Last  night  he 
told  me,  as  we  sat  round  our  camp-fire  smoking  our  pipes 
(I  have  come  to  a  meerschaum,  cigars  are  not  adapted  to  a 
prairie  life),  that  if  he  succeeded  in  the  object  of  his  journey, 
he  intended  to  give  up  the  nomadic  life  he  had  led  for  many 
years,. and  make  his  home  in  New  York.  Lawrence  and  he 
have  become  very  intimate.  In  fact,  every  one  likes  him." 

John  Holmes,  Margaret,  Sarah,  and  Grace  Langley  had 
gone  to  Lake  George.  Mr.  Freeling  still  remained  in  the 
city.  He  had  business  to  look  after  which  required  his 
closest  attention,  and  schemes  to  carry  out  which  would  not 
admit  of  delay  in  their  execution. 

The  day  was  oppressively  hot,  and  Mr.  Freeling  sat  in 
his  shirt  sleeves  in  his  office  with  a  clerk  in  similar  dishabille. 
Being  endowed  with  a  superfluity  of  adipose  substance,  Mr. 
Freeling  felt  the  heat  very  severely,  and  as  his  office  was  on 
the  sunny  side  of  the  street,  and  the  ceiling  was  low,  it  was 
by  no  means  the  coolest  place  of  the  kind  in  the  city.  He 
sat  at  a  large  table,  covered  with  coarse  green  baize,  which, 
however,  could  scarcely  be  seen  for  the  multitude  of  papers 
which  were  on  it  He  seemed  to  be  annoyed  at  some  cir- 
cumstance or  other,  and  the  state  of  his  mind  evidently 
added  to  the  heat  of  his  body,  for  he  wiped  the  perspira- 
tion continually  from  his  face  and  head  with  a  linen  hand- 
kerchief, which,  when  it  came  from  the  laundry,  was  prob- 
ably white,  but  which  was  now  of  a  dirty  yellow  color  from 
saturation  with  cutaneous  exhalations,  and  which  also,  from 
this  circumstance,  had  very  little  effect  now  in  drying  his 
skin. 

The  clerk,  a  thin,  hatchet-faced  individual,  with  a  pimply 
skin,  weak  eyes,  ash  colored  hair,  and  very  dirty  hands,  sat 
at  a  high  desk,  copying,  but  occasionally  looking  round 
furtively  at  Mr.  Freeling  with  a  terrified  expression  of  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Have  you  got  that  work  done  yet,  Collins  ?"  said  Mr. 
Freeling,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  a  document  before 
him. 

"Almost,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk,  with  a  frightened  manner. 

"Almost !     That's  the  same  answer  you  gave  me  half  an 


248  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

hour  ago.  Damn  you,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  fool  that  you  try  to  impose  on  me  ?" 

The  clerk  made  no  answer,  but  his  look  of  fright  became 
more  decided  in  its  expression,  and  he  wrote  as  fast  as  he 
could  on  the  paper  before  him. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  sir  ?"  roared  Freeling,  turning  his 
pivot  chair  around -so  that  he  faced  the  clerk.  "Do  you 
take  me  for  a  fool  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  submissively,  while  he 
trembled  with  apprehension. 

"  No,  sir  I"  said  Freeling,  sneeringly,  "  that's  a  lie.  You 
know  it's  a  lie.  I'll  make  you  tell  the  truth,  you  lazy  vaga- 
bond !  To-morrow's  Sunday,  and  you'll  be  wanting  to  go 
to  Newark  to  see  your  mother,  I  suppose.  Now,  sir,  tell 
me  the  truth  instantly,  or  I'll  keep  you  writing  here  all  day. 
Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?" 

"I'll  say  anything,  sir,  to  be  allowed  to  go,"  exclaimed 
the  clerk,  while  his  weak  eyes  became  still  more  watery ;  "I'm 
afraid  she's  dying." 

"  Then  say  it,"  said  Freeling,  with  a  smile  of  savage 
pleasure. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do." 

"  Oh,  you  do!"  exclaimed  the  lawyer,  malignantly.  "I'll 
let  you  see  whether  I  am  or  not.  You'll  stay  here  all  day 
to-morrow  for  your  want  of  respect,  and  if  you  dare  to 
leave  the  room, — you  know  the  consequences  1" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  humbly;  "I 
thought  you  wished  me  to  say  it." 

"Lying  again,  are  you?"  exclaimed  his  master.  "I'll 
teach  you  !  Here  you'll  stay  to-morrow,  and  if  you  leave 
this  room  you'll  get  into  a  worse  difficulty.  Don't  forget 
that  you  robbed  me  of  ten  dollars  once,  and  that  I've  got 
your  confession  of  it.  Leave  this  room,  and  you'll  stay  out 
of  it  for  five  years  in  Sing  Sing." 

"I  did  not  take  it  for  myself.  My  mother  was  starving," 
said  the  clerk,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"What  do  I  care  about  your'  mother?  She's  always 
starving  or  dying  or  something  of  the  kind.  You  stole  my 
money,  and  I've  got  you  in  my  power,  and  I'll  do  what  I 
please  with  you.  Do  you  understand  that  ?  I'll  do  as  I 
please  with  you  !  What  time  did  Mr.  Jenkins  say  he  would 
call  here  ?" 


ROBERT   SEVERNK.  249 

"At  twelve  o'clock,  sir." 

"And  it's  half-past  twelve  now.     Why  isn't  he  here  ?" 

"  I  don't  knowj  sir.  He  didn't  say  anything  to  me  about 
it." 

"You  don't  know,  you  infernal  idiot !  Now,  sir,  is  that 
copying  done  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  it's  done,"  replied  the  clerk,  as  he  wrote  the  last 
word,  and  handed  the  sheets  to  the  attorney. 

"And  well  for  you  that  it  is,  or  I  would  have  starved  you 
to-morrow,  you  beggarly,  thieving,  lantern-jawed  fool !  "Next 
week,  if  you  behave  as  you  have  done  this,  I'll  cut  your 
wages  down.  Now,  sir,  write  an  answer  to  Mr.  Gordon  in 
Boston,  and  tell  him  I'll  take  the  property  at  the  price  asked 
by  his  principal,  if  he'll  pay  me  five  hundred  dollars." 

"  I've  already  written  and  mailed  a  letter  to  him  as  you 
ordered  me  to  do  yesterday,  in  which  I  informed  him  you 
would  not  take  it." 

"  Why,  hell's  furies  !  do  you  mean  to  say  I  told  you  to  do 
that  ?" 

"  You  did,  sir ;  here's  the  rough  draft  of  your  letter," 
said  the  clerk,  with  a  little  firmness,  as  he  handed  Mr.  Free- 
ling  a  half  sheet  of  paper,  folded  and  indorsed,  "Rough 
draft  of  letter  to  Gordon." 

Freeling  looked  at  it  a  moment,  then  his  face  colored  a 
little,  and  he  tore  the  paper  to  pieces,  throwing  the  frag- 
ments in  the  clerk's  face.  "Do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  shouted, 
"  or  I'll  kill  you,  you  impudent  scoundrel !  I'll " 

What  further  punishment  Mr.  Freeling  contemplated  in- 
flicting on  his  slave  was  not  disclosed,  for  as  he  was  about 
enunciating  his  kind  intentions,  the  long,  lank  body  of  our 
reverend  friend,  Brother  Jenkins,  appeared  at  th'e  door. 

"You're  more  than  a  half  hour  after  your  time,  Mr.  Jen- 
kins," he  continued,  in  a  changed,  but  sullen  tone.  "You 
spiritual  gentlemen  seem  to  think  that  men  of  business  have 
nothing  to  do  but  wait  your  convenience.  You  will  have 
to  be  more  punctual,  sir,  if  you  expect  to  transact  any  busi- 
ness with  me.  Leave  the  room,  Collins." 

"Now,  sir," he  continued,  after  the  clerk  had  disappeared, 
"  sit  down  and  tell  me  what  you  know  of  this  matter." 

"All  I  know,"  said  Brother  Jenkins,  "is  that  I  saw  Sister 
Wiggins  give  Mr.  Severne  a  tin  box  of  letters,  and  that  he 

22* 


250  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

gave  her  a  hundred  dollars  for  it.  He  refused  to  give  me 
anything  toward  supporting  our  mission  to  the  Apaches, 
who  are  in  total  ignorance  of  the  expected  coming  of  the 
King  of  Glory." 

"  Damn  the  Apaches  !  1  don't  want  to  hear  any  cant  or 
humbug,  Mr.  Jenkins.  I  have  promised  to  give  you  two 
hundred  dollars  if  you  will  put  me  in  possession  of  such  in- 
formation as  will  enable  me  to  get  that  box  into  my  hands. 
Sister  Wiggins,  as  you  call  her,  won't  open  her  mouth,  as 
you  know.  You  offered  to  tell  me  as  much  as  she  could  for 
two  hundred  dollars.  Now  do  it  without  any  circumlocu- 
tion. You  say  she  gave  him  a  tin  box,  and  that  he  gave 
her  a  hundred  dollars,"  continued  Mr.  Freeling,  sealing  a 
note.  "  Xow  what  do  you  suppose  is  the  character  of  those 
letters  ?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  concern  the  girl,  Sarah  Tompkins, 
and  her  mother,  Julia  Tompkins."  Brother  Jenkins  then 
told  Mr.  Freeling  how  Mrs.  Wiggins  had  got  possession  of 
them,  and  related  the  main  points  of  her  conversation  with 
Severne,  all  of  which  Mr.  Freeling  noted  down. 

"  Do  you  know  exactly  where  Mr.  Severne  put  the  box  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir.  He  put  it  in  the  upper  left-hand  drawer 
of  his  writing-table." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Jenkins,  I  shall  attend  to  the  business 
to-day,  and  if  I  find  the  letters,  will  give  you  the  money  I 
promised.  It  is  all  perfectly  right.  It  is  necessary  for  me, 
as  Mr.  Severne's  agent,  to  see  those  letters.  His  business 
requires  it,  and  it  is  of  course  impossible  for  me  to  com- 
municate with  him  and  ascertain  where  they  are.  Still,  you 
need  say  nothing  about  it.  And  now,  as  I  am  very  busy,  I 
must  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  Call  here  to-morrow  for  your 
money." 

"  I'll  see  what  there  is  in  this  affair,"  said  Freeling  to 
himself,  after  Brother  Jenkins's  departure.  "  I  don't  think 
there  will  be  much  difficulty  in  getting  into  the  library. 
There  is  a  mystery  which  Severne  wishes  to  keep  close,  that's 
certain.  Good  heavens,  if  I  can  only  get  him  into  my  power, 
how  I'll  grind  him  to  powder !"  Mr.  Freeling  grit  his 
teeth  together  savagely  in  anticipation  of  the  fate  to  which 
he  desired  to  subject  Severne,  and  then  continued :  "  It's 
lucky  I  happened  to  see  this  fool  Jenkins  and  the  woman 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  251 

coming  out  of  his  house,  and  that  I  took  it  into  my  hfcad  to 
follow  them.  I  might  have  waited  for  months  without  know- 
ing what  I  do  now.  He  takes  a  thieving  prostitute  and 
adopts  her.  Is  making  a  fine  lady  out  of  her.  Keeps  her 
at  Mrs.  Langley's,  too.  Well,  it's  not  difficult  to  see  through 
his  object  thus  far.  He  passes  for  a  very  moral  man.  A 
sort  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Ha !  ha !  I  comprehend  his 
morality  thoroughly.  I  know  now  why  he  wouldn't  raise 
the  rent  on  that  infernal  virago.  The  Jezebel !  I'll  settle 
with  her  before  long,  too.  Collins  !" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  making  his  appearance  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  hall,  where  he  had  apparently  been  wait- 
ing till  he  was  summoned. 

"Perhaps  I  was  a  little  hard  on  you,  Collins,  this  morn- 
ing; I  was  out  of  spirits  and  cross.  Here's  five  dollars  for 
you.  You  shall  go  to  Newark  to-morrow,  and  in  the  mean 
time  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor,  Collins." 

The  clerk  took  the  money  and  muttered  out  his  thanks. 
He  was  more  fearful,  however,  of  Mr.  Freeling's  kindness 
than  of  his  rage,  much  as  the  latter  always  frightened  him. 

"  Never  mind  the  thanks,  Collins.  I  know  you  are  grate- 
ful. I've  no  great  fault  to  find  with  you  since  I've  had  you. 
You  know,  though,  I  could  send  you  to  Sing  Sing  if  I 
pleased  ;  but  don't  be  afraid,  as  long  as  you  suit  me  and  do 
your  duty  I'll  keep  you  out  of  that  institution.  Now  I  want 
you,  as  I  said,  to  do  me  a  little  favor." 

Collins  listened,  with  an  expression  of  intense  terror  de- 
picted on  his  countenance,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  want  you,  Collins,"  continued  Mr.  Freeling,  "  to  go 
to  Mr.  Severne's  house  and  tell  the  housekeeper  you  are 
sent  by  me  for  some  papers  which  were  left  on  Mr.  Severne's 
table,  and  which  it  is  very  important  should  be  attended  to 
at  once.  When  you  get  into  the  library,  as  you  probably 
will  without  being  watched,  open  the  upper  left-hand  drawer 
of  the  table  which  stands  in  the  center  of  the  room,  and 
bring  me  a  small  tin  box  which  is  in  it.  There  are  some 
papers  in  this  box  which  I  shall  want  you  to  copy.  You 
need  not,  of  course,  say  anything  about  this  to  any 'one,  for 
though  it's  all  right,  there  are  reasons,  growing  out  of  Mr. 
Severne's  interest,  which  make  it  desirable  the  matter  should 
not  be  talked  about  at  present.  In  case  the  drawer  should 


.     252  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

be  locked,  here  is  a  key  which  will  probably  open  it."  With 
these  words  Mr.  Freeling  handed  Collins  a  small  skeleton- 
key,  which  looked  as  if  it  would,  as  he  said,  open  any  ordi- 
nary drawer-lock. 

Collins  took  the  key,  and  though  he  seemed  relieved 
when  he  found  that  the  task  required  of  him  was  not  so  bad 
as  he  had  expected,  he  did  not  betray  much  anxiety  to  enter 
upon  its  execution.  He  knew  very  well  that  it  was  a  ras- 
cally piece  of  business,  and  that  he  was  the  tool  who  would 
get  into  difficulty  if  detection  followed. 

"  You  don't  appear  very  anxious  to  oblige  me,  Collins," 
said  Mr.  Freeling,  with  a  menacing  mien.  "Perhaps  you 
are  becoming  conscientious  ;  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  form 
virtuous  habits  before  you  opened  my  safe,  Collins.  They 
might  have  kept  you  from  all  danger  of  Sing  Sing.  By-the- 
by,  that  reminds  me  that  the  confession  you  wrote  is  at  my 
room ;  I  must  bring  it  down  here,  so  as  to  have  it  convenient 
in  case  I  should  have  to  make  use  of  it." 

"  I'll  go,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  clerk,  quickly. 

"  That  is  right,  I  like  to  see  you  obliging  and  considerate 
toward  one  who  has  done  you  as  many  favors  as  I  have. 
It  is  now  two  o'clock.  Jump  into  an  omnibus  and  you  can 
be  back  here  by  half-past  three." 

Within  the  time  specified  by  Mr.  Freeling,  Collins  re- 
turned, but  without  the  box. 

"I  went,  sir,  as  you  directed,"  he  said,  "and  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  go  to  the  library  for  some  papers  which  were 
left  by  you  on  the  table,  and  which  were  of  great  importance. 
Mr.  Severne  had  left  the  key  of  the  library  with  a  friend  of 
his,  the  housekeeper  said,  and  the  door  was  locked.  She 
had  a  pass-key,  however,  and  she  opened  the  door  and  let 
me  in  ;  I  had  to  make  a  show  of  getting  some  papers  from 
the  table,  but  I  could  not  get  a  chance  to  try  the  key  in  the 
lock  of  the  drawer,  as  she  stayed  in  the  room  with  me  all 
the  time.  The  drawer  was  locked ;  that  I  ascertained  for 
a  certainty.  The  housekeeper  seemed  to  think  I  was  a 
suspicious  character,  and  I  saw  she  was  doubtful  as  to  ray 
being  your  clerk.  She  asked  me  why  you  did  not  come 
yourself.  Here's  the  key  you  gave  me." 

"Very  well,-Collins,  it's  all  right:  I'll  go  there  myself  this 
evening ;  she  knows  me,  and  perhaps  will  not  watch  me  as 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  253 

closely  as  she  did  you.  You  can  go  now,  I  shall  not  want 
you  till  Monday  morning." 

That  evening  Mr.  Freeling  set  out  from  his  lodgings  for 
Severne's  house  with  the  purpose  of  attempting  to  obtain 
possession  of  the  tin  box  which  Mrs.  Wiggins  had  found. 
He  had  endeavored  to  get  it  through  his  clerk,  so  that 
in  case  the  theft  should  be  discovered,  the  crime  might  in 
some  way  or  other  be  laid  to  his  charge.  As  it  was,  it 
would  not  be  a  difficult  matter  to  cast  enough  suspicion 
around  Collins  whenever  it  should  become  necessary  for  his 
own  safety  to  do  so.  As  Mr.  Freeliug  had  said,  the  house- 
keeper knew  him,  and  he  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  an 
entrance  to  the  library. 

"  There  was  a  man  here  this  morning,"  she  said  to  him, 
"who  came  for  some  papers  for  which  he  declared  you  had 
sent  him ;  I  did  not  like  his  looks,  and  so  I  watched  him 
closely.  He  said  you  had  sent  him,  and  that  he  was  your 
clerk." 

"  Said  I  sent  him  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Freeling.  "  Why,  who 
could  it  have  been  ?  I  sent  no  one  here." 

"  He  was  a  thin,  tall  man,  with  light  hair,  and  a  face  all 
covered  with  freckles." 

"  That's  my  clerk,  to  be  sure  !"  said  Mr.  Freeling  with  an 
air  of  surprise.  "  He  is  a  great  rascal,  I  am  afraid.  I  did 
not  send  him.  Are  you  sure  he  took  nothing  from  the 
room  ?" 

"  He  took  some  loose  papers  from  the  table,  which  I  saw 
were  not  written  on  at  all,  and  I  saw  him  try  to  open  one  of 
the  drawers." 

"  There's  something  wrong  here,  Mrs.  Smith,  something 
wrong,"  said  Mr.  Freeling,  musingly.  "  I  must  see  to  this, 
and  am  very  glad  you  watched  him  so  closely.  I  hope  he 
did  not  succeed  in  carrying  anything  off  of  value.  I  shall 
be  here  a  few  minutes,  as  I  have  some  notes  to  make,"  he 
continued,  as  they  entered  the  library.  "  You  need  not 
wait,  unless  you  choose." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  as  she  finished  lighting 
the  gas.  "  When  you  have  got  through,  please  ring  the  bell, 
and  I'll  come  up  and  lock  the  door  again.  Mr.  Severne  was 
very  particular  in  his  orders  to  me  to  keep  the  library 
locked." 


254  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Freeling  found  himself  alone,  he  inserted 
the  key  he  had  given  to  Collins  into  the  lock  of  the  drawer 
which  he  had  reason  to  believe  contained  the  letters  of  which 
he  was  in  search.  It  opened  without  difficulty.  The  box 
was  there  as  Severne  had  left  it.  Mr.  Freeling  removed  it, 
took  out  the  letters,  and  proceeded  to  make  himself  master 
of  their  contents.  He  read  them  over  hastily  but  without 
missing  a  word. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "this  is  news,  truly,  but  I  must  say 
it  is  not  of  very  great  importance  to  me.  Very  well  to  know 
it,  though.  So  his  protege  is  sister  to  old  Holmes's  grand- 
daughter !  I  recollect  Leslie.  A  sharp  fellow,  very  !  Not 
perhaps  overrighteous  (who  is,  when  righteousness  would 
be  in  his  way  ?),  but  a  remarkably  shrewd  man.  I  don't 
want  these  letters,"  he  continued,  as  he  put  them  back  into 
the  box.  "I  know  what's  in  them,  and  that's  enough.  No 
one  will  know  I've  seen  them  till  I  choose  to  tell  them." 

After  replacing  the  box  and  locking  the  drawer,  Mr.  Free- 
.ling  looked  over  the  papers  which  lay  on  the  table.  He 
next  opened  the  port-folio,  and  took  from  it  several  loose 
sheets  of  paper,  containing  memoranda.  As  he  put  them 
back,  he  discovered  a  folded  sheet,  which  he  had  not  seen  at 
first.  He  opened  it,  and  as  he  read  it  his  face  lightened  up 
into  an  expression  of  fiendish  pleasure,  mingled  with  one  of 
intense  astonishment.  He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair 
with  the  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"Good  God  !"  he  exclaimed;  "can  it  be  possible  ?  Am 
I  dreaming  ?  Let  me  read  it  again,  it  seems  too  great  a 
piece  of  good  fortune  to  be  real.  Confesses  to  the  murder 
of  his  wife  !  It's  his  own  handwriting  throughout,  and 
signed  by  him,  too,"  he  continued,  as  he  folded  up  the  letter 
Severne  had  written  to  Lawrence,  and  which  the  latter 
thought  he  had  destroyed.  "  I'll  keep  this,  at  any  rate  ! 
but  I  don't  understand  it  at  all.  I  heard  of  this  thing  in 
England,  but  I  thought  I  had  ascertained  positively  that 
there  was  nothing  in  it.  He  must  have  killed  her  though. 
There's  no  getting  over  this  confession  !  At  last  I've  got 
him  in  my  power,  and  he  shall  hang,  yes,  he  shall"  hang  as 
sure  as  my  name's  Freeling !  This  is  the  happiest  moment 
of  my  life.  I  would  not  take  any  money  for  this  letter. 
Money  is  sweet,  but  power  and  revenge  are  sweeter.  I'll 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.       .  255 

think  this  whole  thing  over,  and  arrange  my  plans.  It  will 
require  caution,  but  if  I  fail,  with  evidence  like  this  in  my 
possession,  it  will  be  my  own  fault.  I'll  hang  him  first,  and 
get  a  good  slice  of  his  funds  afterward. 

"  So,  Mr.  Robert  Severne,  my  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  my 
Chevalier  Bayard,  my  admirable  Crichton,  you  murdered 
your  wife,  did  you  ?  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  for  otherwise  I 
would  not  have  had  the  pleasure,  which  I  shall  enjoy  hugely, 
of  seeing  you  hang.  What  a  disappointment  it  will  be  to 
his  reformed  female  thief,  and  to  old  Holmes  and  his  grand- 
daughter, who,  I  verily  believe,  would  be  glad  to  make  him 
a  member  of  their  precious  family  !  A  fine  family  it  is,  with 
two  girls  in  it  whose  father  was  a  drunken  gambler,  and  the 
mother  of  one  a  strumpet.  It  would  be  adding  greatly  to 
its  already  illustrious  character  to  let  a  murderer  into  it. 
As  to  this  Dr.  Lawrence,  he  is  evidently  an  accessory  after 
the  fact.  I  hate  him,  too  !" 

Mr.  Freeling  put  the  letter  into  his  pocket-book,  rear- 
ranged everything  on  the  table,  and  then  rang  the  bell  for 
Mrs.  Smith.  Thanking  her  for  her  kindness,  he  left  the  house, 
and  proceeded  to  his  own  lodgings  to  meditate  further  over 
the  plans  which,  if  he  succeeded  in  them,  would  bring  un- 
happiness  to  many,  and  consign  one  to  the  gallows. 

He  had  not  noticed  that  a  sharp  pair  of  eyes  were  looking 
at  him  through  one  of  the  library  windows  while  he  was 
busily  engaged  in  his  disreputable  work. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PRAIRIE    LIFE. 

SEVERNE'S  party  comprised,  besides  those  already  known 
to  the  reader,  six  men  to  take  care  of  the  horses  and  mules, 
and  do  such  other  work  as  might  be  required  of  them ;  two 
hunters,  whose  chief  duty  it  was  to  provide  fresh  meat ;  two 
cooks,  two  servants,  and  an  individual  of  very  considerable 
importance,  who,  having  spent  nearly  all  his  life  on  the 


256  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

prairies,  was  well  qualified  to  act  as  guide  and  adviser  to 
Severne,  and  to  attend  to  all  the  practical  details  connected 
with  the  journey.  There  were  thus  fifteen  in  all,  and  as 
each  was  well  armed,  and  as  several  of  them  were  old  prairie 
men,  they  were  strong  enough  to  make  any  attack  upon 
them  by  hostile  Indians,  sufficiently  dangerous  to  the  assail- 
ants. 

Severne  had  provided  for  all  possible  wants,  and  had  or- 
ganized the  expedition  on  the  most  liberal  scale.  Two  light 
spring  wagons,  each  drawn  by  four  large  mules,  contained 
the  baggage  and  stores,  and  a  still  lighter  wagon  was  loaded 
with  the  surplus  arms  and  ammunition,  and  with  stores 
which  it  was  advisable  to  transport  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
admit  of  easy  access  to  them  at  all  times.  There  was,  besides, 
a  wagon  which  contained  nothing  but  forage.  Exclusive  of 
the  four  drivers,  each  of  the  party  was  well  mounted,  and 
there  were,  besides,  several  extra  horses  and  mules  available 
in  case  of  emergency. 

The  route,  which  had  been  decided  upon  after  a  good 
deal  of  consideration,  was  one  which  led  them  by  Fort 
Kearney,  and  Bridger's  Pass  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  to 
Salt  Lake  City,  and  thence  across  the  Great  Basin  and 
the  Sierra  JSevada  to  San  Francisco.  They  had  passed 
Fort  Kearney,  and  were  moving  up  the  broad  valley  of  the 
Platte  River,  when  the  thread  of  our  story  again  returns  to 
Severne.  Thus  far  everything  had  been  favorable.  He  had 
felt  the  genial  influence  of  the  pure  air  of  the  prairies,  and 
had  already  experienced  the  greatest  benefit  from  the  simple 
though  rugged  life  he  was  forced  to  lead,  and  of  which  he 
partook  with  a  zest  he  had  not  thought  possible.  Accus- 
tomed in  early  life  to  a  great  deal  of  out-door  exercise,  he 
had  in  later  years  almost  entirely  abandoned  the  amuse- 
ments of  hunting  and  fishing  for  the  intellectual  labors  in 
which  he  had  learned  to  take  more  interest.  At  first,  there- 
fore, he  was  apprehensive  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
acquire  a  taste  for  them  again.  But  the  moment  he  ob- 
tained his  first  sight  of  a  herd  of  buffaloes  he  was  undeceived. 
There  they  were,  about  two  miles  distant,  looking  like  an 
immense  drove  of  black  oxen,  grazing  in  fancied  security 
against  danger.  The  rolling  nature  of  the  ground,  and  the 
fact  that  the  wind  was  blowing  from  the  herd  toward  the 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  257 

party,  allowed  the  latter  to  approach  to  within  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  without  apparently  exciting  any  alarm.  Here  they 
halted,  and  Severne,  Lawrence,  and  de  Hutten  prepared  to 
make  a  dash  upon  the  unsuspecting  animals.  Each  was 
superbly  mounted ;  and  armed  only  with  their  revolvers  and 
hunting-knives,  they  rode  from  the  defile  to  the  crest  of  a 
ridge,  from  which  there  was  a  gradual  descent  to  the  herd, 
which  was  scarcely  three  hundred  yards  distant.  The  moment 
they  eame  in  sight,  several  old  but  sharp-sighted  bulls  on 
the  flanks  of  the  herd,  whose  duty  appeared  to  be  that  of 
sentinels,  lifted  up  their  shaggy  heads,  snorted  loudly,  and 
galloping  to  the  main  body,  gave  the  alarm.  "Now's  your 
time!"  shouted  Tim  Ormsby,  the  guide.  "Go  it  with  all 
your  might !"  Away  went  the  herd  in  a  dense  body,  as  if 
mad,  and  away  went  our  embryo  buffalo  hunters  as  fast  as 
good  horseflesh,  urged  by  sharp  spurs,  could  carry  them. 
Severne  soon  distanced  his  companions.  It  was  not  a  time 
to  stand  on  ceremony.  Holding  his  rein  lightly  in  his  left 
hand,  he  singled  out  a  fine,  fat  cow,  and  made  for  her. 
Waiting  till  he  came  to  within  about  twenty  feet  of  her,  h'e 
drew  his  revolver  from  the  holster,  and  urging  his  horse  to 
still  greater  speed,  delivered  his  first  shot  at  the  fore-shoulder 
of  the  animal.  His  aim  was  good,  and  the  trigger  was 
pulled  with  a  steady  hand,  but  his  horse,  which  seemed  to 
be  instinctively  aware  of  what  was  coming,  gave  a  slight 
but  unexpected  spring  just  as  the  pistol  was  discharged,  and 
the  ball  took  effect  at  a  point  at  least  a  foot  to  the  rear  of 
that  at  which  he  had  aimed.  The  cow  lunged  heavily  for- 
ward, but  instantly  regained  her  footing,  and  rushed  on 
as  wildly  and  as  rapidly  as  before.  It  was  the  first  time 
Severne's  horse  had  ever  seen  a  buffalo,  and  his  behavior, 
under  the  circumstances,  was  admirable.  He  could  not, 
however,  altogether  prevent  the  exhibition  of  a  little  ner- 
vousness, and  for  a  moment  Severne  lost  ground  in  conse- 
quence. It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  for  again  put- 
ting spurs  to  his  horse  he  soon  approached  near  enough  to 
renew  the  attack.  On  he  went.  This  time  he  reserved  his 
fire  till  he  had  got  half  a  length  ahead  of  his  victim,  and 
then  turning  suddenly,  fired  with  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol 
scarcely  a  yard  from  her  body.  A  gush  of  bright  crimson 
blood  from  the  mouth  and  nostrils  convinced  him  that  the 

23 


258  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

wound  was  mortal.  The  poor  beast  staggered  onward  for 
a  half  a  dozen  yards  or  so,  and  then  falling  heavily  to  the 
earth,  in  a  few  minutes  was  dead.  Severne  dismounted, 
drew  his  hunting-knife  from  his  belt,  and  cutting  of  the  tail 
of  the  huge  animal,  waved  it  in  the  air  toward  the  main 
body  of  the  party,  several  of  whom  were  now  galloping  up. 
A  short  halt  was  ordered,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  the 
tongue,  the  hump,  and  others  of  the  most  esteemed  parts, 
were  in  the  wagons,  ready  for  the  cooks  when  camp  should 
be  reached.  Severne  had  killed  the  first  buffalo. 

But  where  were  Lawrence  and  de  Hutten.  The  first  was 
out  of  sight*  still  probably  in  pursuit  of  the  herd.  The  last 
that  was  seen  of  him  was  by  Tim  Ormsby,  who,  with  a  glass, 
had  made  him  out  in  the  dim  distance  firing  away  at  an  old 
bull,  which  appeared  to  be  endowed  with  a  wonderful  tena- 
city of  life.  As  to  de  Hutten,  there  he  was  coming  to  answer 
for  himself.  His  story  was  not  a  long  one.  He  had  picked 
out  bis  cow,  and  was  riding  at  full  speed  (he  had  served  in 
the  Russian  cavalry,  and  knew  how  to  ride),  when  his  horse, 
putting  his  foot  into  a  gopher  hole,  stumbled,  throwing  his 
rider  fully  twenty  feet  forward.  Before  de  Hutten  could 
gather  himself  up  and  remount,  the  herd  had  gained  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile.  There  was  still  a  chance,  however,  and  on 
he  rode  like  a  madman.  He  had  lost  sight  of  his  first  selec- 
tion, but  where  there  were  so  many  to  choose  from,  it  was 
not  difficult  to  make  another.  A  fine  young  heifer  was  the 
favored  animal  this  time,  when  just  as  he  was  about  to  make 
his  onslaught,  down  went  his  horse  again  ! 

"I  am  a  little  superstitious.  Perhaps  some  day  I  will 
tell  you  why,"  he  said  to  Severne.  "  Two  falls  constituted 
a  warning  which  I  dared  not  resist;  I  was  really  afraid  of 
what  might  accompany  the  third;  besides,  I  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  catching  my  horse,  and  when  I  succeeded,  the  herd 
was  so  distant  as  to  render  any  attempt  to  regain  my  lost 
ground  rather  doubtful.  So  I  remounted,  and  turning  my 
horse's  head  in  this  direction,  returned  a  wiser  but  not  a 
sadder  man  than  when  I  started,  for  what  I  had  of  the  hunt 
was  splendid,  and  perhaps  would  not  have  been  more  pleas- 
urable if  I  had  been  more  successful." 

"There's  nothing  like  putting  a  good  face  on  it,  de  Hut- 
ten,"  said  Severne,  laughing ;  "  but  you  will  never  know  what 


,     * 

-       ; 
ROBERT    SEVERNE.  259 

buffalo  hunting  is  till  you  kill  your  animal.  I  have  hunted 
a  great  deal  in  my  lifetime,  from  a  hare  in  England  to  a 
wild  boar  in  Hungary,  but  this  has  certainly  been  the  most 
exhilarating  sport  I  ever  indulged  in.  And  yet  I  felt 
sorry  for  the  poor  thing.  I  have  had  a  pang,  therefore,  de 
Hutten,  which  you  have  escaped.  As  she  received  my 
second  shot,  and  as  the  blood  came  in  a  torrent  from  her 
mouth  and  nose,  she  turned  her  head  and  gave  me  a  re- 
proachful glance  which  really  went  to  my  heart,  and  stayed 
there,  too,"  he  continued,  smiling,  "  for  fully  a  second.  I 
suppose  to-morrow  I  should  try  it  again  without  the  least 
compunction.  Man  is  surely  the  most  cruel  animal  in  the 
world.  He  is  probably  the  only  one  who  destroys  life  merely 
for  amusement.  I  dare  say  if  I  were  to  analyze  my  emotions 
I  should  find  that  the  shade  of  regret  I  experienced  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  victim  was  so  large.  I  have  never  killed 
so  big  an  animal  before." 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  de  Hutten ;  "  I  have  killed  a  great 
many  animals  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  higher  they 
are  in  the  scale  of  development — that  is,  the  nearer  they  ap- 
proach to  man — the  greater  the  remorse  which  is  experienced. 
Monkeys  always  excited  it  in  me  at  first.  I  soon  got  used  to 
it,  however,"  he  continued,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 
"  In  fact,  after  a  little  while  I  believe  I  preferred  killing 
them  to  other  animals,  for  the  reason  that  they  possessed  so 
many  features  assimilating  them  to  mankind.  I  don't  know 
that  I  have  quite  reached  to  such  a  point  that  I  could  kill 
a  white  man  in  cold  blood  without  being  sorry  for  it  after- 
ward, but  I  am  sure  I  should  not  be  rendered  at  all  miser- 
able after  sending  an  Indian  out  of  the  world." 

"You  appear  to  be  especially  severe  on  the  red  men," 
said  Severne,  smiling.  "  Did  you  ever  see  one  ?" 

"  Never;  but  I  expect  to  see  one  at  least  before  I  finish 
this  journey,  and  I  intend  to  kill  him." 

Severne  smiled.  He  did  not  give  de  Hutten  credit  for 
being  very  bloody-minded,  or  he  would  have  argued  the 
matter  with  him,  and  have  attempted  to  convince  him  that 
all  Indians  were  not  worthy  of  being  murdered.  He  there- 
fore changed  the  conversation  by  asking  Tim  Ormsby  if  it 
would  not  be  better  to  send  some  one  in  search  of  Law- 

^ 

rence. 


260  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"  I'll  go  myself,"  said  Ormsby.  "  Both  the  hunters  are 
out,  and  I  guess  if  he's  met  with  any  accident  I  can  be  of 
more  service  to  him  than  anybody  here." 

"I  think  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Joshua,  who  had  been 
listening  to  the  conversation  between  Severne  and  de  Hut- 
ten,  and  who,  having  formed  a  strong  attachment  for  Law- 
rence, was  getting  uneasy  at  his  long  absence;  "I  think  I'll 
go  with  you,  Mr.  Ormsby." 

"Indeed  and  you  won't,  Mr.  Joshua,"  said  Ormsby,  very 
decidedly.  "I'don't  want  a  man  with  me  when  I  go  on  an 
expedition  who  can't  ride  ten  yards  without  getting  off  his 
horse  to  pick  up  a  rock  or  a  weed  or  a  bug,  or  some  other 
darned  thing  that  ain't  no  use  to  nobody.  No,  sir,  just  you 
stay  where  you  are.  There's  plenty  of  '  specimens'  about 
here." 

"Then  you  go  your  way  and  I'll  go  mine,"  exclaimed 
Joshua,  indignantly;  "I  don't  want  your  company,  Mr. 
Ormsby.  I  never  heard  you  make  a  sensible  observation  in 
my  life,  and  I  suppose  I've  heard  you  make  no  less  than 
twenty  thousand  observations  since  we  left  Fort  Leaven- 
worth.  Where  there's  so  much  smoke  there  might  be  a  little 
fire,  one  would  think.  But  there's  nothing  but  carbonic 
acid  gas  and  vapor  of  water  comes  out  of  your  mouth. 
Perhaps  the  sense  is  all  frozen  up  since  that  voyage  of  yours 
to  the  north  pole  that  you  told  us  of  last  night." 

"You  darned  dictionary  !"  muttered  Ormsby,  as  he  rode 
away,  "I'd  like  to  pound  your  head  !  I'll  do  it,  too,  some 
day,  if  you  don't  look  out." 

Joshua  set  off  in  almost  the  opposite  direction.  He  had 
seen  what  Ormsby  had  not  discovered,  that  the  herd  had 
made  a  circuit,  so  as  to  get  to  leeward  of  their  pursuers,  and 
were  then  probably  several  miles  to  the  eastward.  Taking 
out  his  compass,  without  which  he  never  traveled,  he  took 
the  bearings,  and  pushing  his  horse  into  a  fast  trot  was  soon 
out  of  sight.  Severne  ordered  the  wagons  to  move  on  to 
the  river,  about  half  a  mile  distant,  and  the  party  went 
into  camp  for  the  day. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  belt  of  hills  that 
formed  the  valley  of  the  Platte,  when  one  of  the  men  re- 
ported that  a  party  was  approaching.  Severne  toak  his 
glass,  and  made  out  Joshua  and  another  man,  both  mounted, 


EGBERT    SEVERN E.  261 

leading  what  appeared  to  be  a  horse  with  an  empty  saddle. 
Full  of  apprehension,  he  ordered  his  own  horse  to  be  sad- 
dled, and  mounting  him,  rode  off  rapidly  toward  the  men, 
who  were  still  more  than  a  mile  distant.  As  he  neared  them, 
he  perceived  that  the  horse  which  was  led  dragged  a  litter 
behind  him,  made,  after  the  manner  of  the  prairie  Indians,  of 
two  poles,  fastened  each  to  the  saddle  by  one  end,  while  the 
other  dragged  on  the  ground.  A  buffalo  skin  or  a  blanket 
being  stretched  between  the  poles,  a  very  comfortable  means 
of  conveyance  for  a  sick  or  wounded  person  is  provided. 
There  was  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  who  was  the  person 
Joshua  and  one  of  the  hunters  were  transporting.  The 
hor&e  drawing  the  litter  was  Lawrence's.  Severne  could 
only,  therefore,  while  suffering  the  most  painful  apprehen- 
sions, hope  for  the  best. 

"Don't  make  yourself  uneasy,  sir,"  said  Joshua,  who  ad- 
vanced to  meet  him.  "He'll  be  all  right  in  an  hour  or  two. 
He's  only  had  the  breath  squeezed  out  of  him  by  a  buffalo, 
and  Jose  (who,  for  a  Mexican,  is  as  good  a  fellow  as  one 
would  want  to  see)  and  me  have  got  him  fixed  up  pretty 
well." 

"Thank  God,  it's  no  worse,"  exclaimed  Severne,  dashing 
up  to  the  litter.  "  Lawrence,  my  dear  fellow,  how  are  you  ?" 
he  continued,  as  he  sprang  from  his  horse  and  approached 
his  friend.  "I  hope  to  Heaven  you  are  not  seriously  hurt." 

"I  think  not,"  said  Lawrence,  in  a  weak  voice.  "I'm 
bruised  a  good  deal,  but  I  think  no  bones  are  broken.  I 
should  have  been  dead,  though,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Jose 
and  Joshua.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  after  awhile." 

Severne  liurried  the  party  on  to  the  camp,  and  in  a  short 
time  Lawrence  was  undressed,  and  laid  on  a  comfortable 
cot  in  the  shade  of  his  tent.  Severne  examined  him  care- 
fully, and  ascertained  that  beyond  some  pretty  severe  bruises, 
and  a  cut  on  the  scalp,  which  extended  across  the  top  of  his 
head,  he  had  received  no  serious  injuries.  The  bruises  were 
'bathed,  and  the  cut  dressed,  and  after  the  administration  of 
a  little  whisky,  Lawrence  felt  sufficiently  strong  to  relate 
his  adventure. 

"  The  animal  that  I  selected  as  my  prey,"  said  Lawrence, 
"  was  a  large  and  powerful  bull.  He  ran  very  fast,  and  be- 
fore 1  knew  it  I  was  in  the  midst  of  the  herd.  I  kept  my 

23* 


262  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

eye  on  him,  however,  and  poshed  my  horse  forward  to  his 
utmost  speed.  If  I  had  stopped,  or  attempted  to  get  out,  I 
should  have  been  trampled  to  death  by  the  furious  animals 
who  rushed  blindly  onward,  and  who  would  have  upset  my 
horse  and  his  rider  without  knowing  what  they  were  doing. 
At  last  I  reached  my  victim,  and  as  I  rode  up  alongside  of 
him  I  gave  him  my  first  shot.  I  struck  him  somewhere  in 
the  body,  and  though  the  wound  was  not  a  fatal  one,  it 
reduced  his  speed,  so  that  I  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  up 
with  him.  Again  and  again  I  fired,  but  without  giving  him 
a  mortal  wound.  When  I  took  time  to  look  around  me,  I 
found  that  the  herd  had  gradually  been  getting  over  the 
ground  more  rapidly  than  I  had,  and  that  the  bull  and  my- 
self had  the  field  all  to  ourselves.  A  fourth  shot  brought 
him  to-  bay.  He  wheeled  round  suddenly,  and  stood  stamp- 
ing the  ground  with  his  fore-feet,  tossing  his  head,  and  bel- 
lowing, not  loudly,  but  with  an  emphasis  which  convinced 
me  that  he  meditated  mischief.  I  rode  up  to  within  a  few 
feet  of  him,  and  gave  him  another  shot.  He  lowered  his 
head  as  if  about  to  come  at  me,  but  I  fired  again — it  was 
my  last  shot — and  brought  him  to  the  ground.  I  immedi- 
ately jumped  from  my  horse,  drew  my  knife,  and  prepared 
to  finish  him  with  that  weapon.  As  soon,  however,  as  I 
came  within  reach  of  him,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  made  at 
me.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  retreated,  still  however  facing. 
him.  Backward  I  went,  and  on  came  the  bull.  Suddenly 
I  felt  my  foot  stepping  on  nothing,  and  before  I  could  turn 
I  fell  down  a  bluff,  the  buffalo  following.  I  saw  that  he 
would  strike  me  as  I  went  down,  and  when  I  reached  the 
ground  again  I  rolled  myself  a  little  out  of  the  way,  not 
enough,  however,  to  prevent  him  falling  partly  on  me  and 
cutting  my  head  with  his  horns.  I  was  completely  stunned 
by  the  blow,  and  knew  nothing  more  till  I  found  Jose  and 
Joshua  standing  over  me." 

"He  was  pretty  far  gone,  sir,"  said  Joshua,  who  was 
busily  engaged  in  making  himself  useful,  "  when  Jose  and  I 
found  him.  After  I  left  here  I  met  Jose  over  the  hills  there, 
and  told  him  what  was  the  matter,  and  we  started  on0  to- 
gether toward  where  he  had  heard  firing.  About  three 
miles  from  the  hills  we  struck  the  trail  of  the  buffaloes,  and 
soon  came  to  where  the  doctor  had  fallen  down.  It  must 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  268 

have  been  at  least  fifteen  feet;  but  the  ground  was  very  soft, 
else  he  would  have  been  killed  outright.  There  he  lay  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  looking  as  if  he  was  dead,  and  a 
dead  buffalo  almost  covering  him  up  entirely.  Jose  and  I 
crawled  down  and  dragged  the  beast  off,  when  we  found 
that  the  doctor  was  only  stunned.  We  threw  water  in  his 
face*and  gave  him  a  little  whisky,  and  after  awhile  he  opened 
his  eyes.  He  could  not  stand,  however,  but  Jose  said  he'd 
get  him  home.  So  while  he  went  to  a  spring  near  by  where 
there  was  a  cottonwood-tree  growing,  to  cut  a  couple  of 
strong  poles,  I  hunted  for  the  doctor's  horse,  which  I  found 
grazing  about  half  a  mile  off. 

"Well,  sir,  Jose  rigged  up  the  litter  and  we  put  the  doc- 
tor on  it,  and  moved  off  with  him  as  comfortably  as  you 
please,  and  to-raorrow  or  next  day  at  furthest,  he'll  be  as 
well  as  he  ever  was.  And  here's  the  tongue  and  the  tail 
of  his  buffalo,  too,"  he  continued,  untying  them  from  his' 
saddle-bow  as  he  spoke.  "I  cut  them  off  as  his  trophies." 

At  this  moment  Ormsby  made  his  appearance,  having,  of 
course,  been  unsuccessful  in  his  search.  The  enmity  be- 
tween him  and  Joshua  had  existed  ever  since  they  left  Fort 
Leavenworth.  There  was  no  very  strong  feeling  of  hate, 
however.  Joshua  laughed  at  Ormsby,  and  the  latter  despised 
what  he  regarded  as  Joshua's  affectation  of  superior  knowl- 
edge. 

"I'm  sorry  you  would  not  allow  me  to  persuade  you  to 
go  my  way,  Mr.  Ormsby,"  said  Joshua,  maliciously.  "Your 
superior  knowledge  would  have  been  of  great  service  to  us. 
However,  Jose — who  is  one  of  the  best  guides  and  hunters 
I  ever  saw,  and  I  would  recommend  all  travelers  who  can 
get  his  services  to  do  so  without  fail — did  all  that  was  ac- 
tually necessary.  He  didn't  talk  much,  Mr.  Ormsby,  and 
there's  where  we  missed  you.  Jose  doesn't  understand 
much  English,  and  the  doctor  was  stunned,  so  that  I  would 
have  had  you  all  to  myself." 

Ormsby  walked  away,  muttering  something  expressive  of 
his  intense  desire  to  do  Joshua  a  bodily  injury. 

It  was  several  days  before  Lawrence  was  able  to  ride  on 
horseback,  and  in  the  mean  time  he  was  transported  in  one 
of  the  wagons  which  was  arranged  for  the  purpose.  All 
went  on  well  with  the  party,  and  nothing  of  importance  oc- 


264  ROBERT    SB  VERNE. 

curred  till  after  they  crossed  the  Black  Hills.  The  events 
which  then  took  place  are  of  sufficient  importance  to  deserve 
a  separate  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

IN    WHICH    ULBICH    DE    HUTTEN    TELLS    HIS    WONDERFUL    STOKT. 

SEVERNE'S  party  had  crossed  the  Black  Hills  and  were 
passing  through  the  broad  valley  which  separates  this  ridge 
from  the  Medicine  Bow  Mountains.  As  yet  they  had  seen 
no  Indians  either  friendly  or  hostile,  and  Severne  frequently 
bantered  de  Hutten  on  his  warlike  intentions  having  been 
thus  far  frustrated.  The  latter,  however,  would  smile  con- 
fidently and  declare  that  his  opportunity  would  come  ere 
long. 

The  sun  was  down  behind  the  long  black  range  of  mount- 
ains, which  stretched  like  a  great  dark  wall  before  them, 
when  the  party  went  into  camp  on  the  west  fork  of  the 
Laramie  River,  a  clear,  swift  stream  which  flowed  from  the 
mountains  through  the  plain  they  were  traversing.  The  sun 
had  disappeared,  and  the  shadow  of  the  high  hills  darkened 
the  prairie  verdure — though  the  sky  was  still  bright  and  beau- 
tiful with  the  sunlight  which  illumined  it.  The  tents  were 
pitched,  and  Severne,  Lawrence,  and  de  Hutten  sat  before 
them  smoking  their  pipes  and  enjoying  the  delicious  cool- 
ness of  the  atmosphere,  which  always  prevails  on  the  plains, 
even  during  the  hottest  weather,  as  soon  as  the  sun  has  set, 
and  which  at  their  elevation  and  at  that  season  of  the  year 
— September — was  particularly  bracing  and  agreeable. 

"I  think  I  shall  meet  my  Indians  before  long  now,"  said 
de  Hutten.  "  This  is  a  very  fine  place  for  them,  and  to-day, 
as  I  was  off  there  to  the,  right,  I  saw  signs  which  assured 
me  they  are  about." 

"They  are  in  our  vicinity,"  said  Severne.  "I  have  just 
had  a  talk  with  Ormsby,  and  he  tells  me  he  saw  undoubted 
evidences  of  their  presence  in  this  valley.  He  thinks  they 
are  Cheyennes." 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  265 

"  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  have  any  difficulty  with  them," 
said  Lawrence.  "  They  have  nothing  to  gain  by  attacking 
us,  unless  they  can  take  us  by  surprise.  We  should  certainly 
kill  more  of  them  than  they  could  of  us,  and  they  value  a 
life  very  highly." 

"  They  will  attack  us,"  said  de  Hutten,  quietly,  "and  that 
before  to-morrow  morning." 

.  "How  do  you  know?"  said  Severne.  "My  dear  de 
Hutten,  you  must  be  a  sorcerer,  for  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
there  are  a  dozen  or  so  coming  over  the  plain  to  the  left 
there." 

All  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  in  a  moment  the  camp  was 
aroused  and  prepared.  The  cooking  which  had  been  going 
on  was  interrupted,  and  each  man,  armed  with  his  rifle  and 
revolver,  was  ready  in  case  an  attack  should  be  made. 

The  Indians  came  to  within  a  hundred  yards  and  made 
signs  of  peace.  There  were  sixteen  of  them,  and  the  party 
of  whites  was  more  than  a  match  for  them  in  a  fair  fight. 
Ormsby  recommended  Severne  to  allow  them  to  come  into 
camp,  but  on  no  account  to  relax  in  vigilance.  Each  man 
was  ordered  to  keep  his  arms  in  his  hands,  and  to  be  pre- 
pared to  repel  any  attack  that  might  be  made.  The  signal 
was  given,  therefore,  and  the  Indians  rode  single  file  into  the 
camp.  They  did  not  dismount,  and  appeared  to  be  actuated 
more  by  curiosity  than  any  other  motive.  Ormsby  carried 
on  the  conversation  with  them.  They  were  Cheyennes,  and 
the  chief  declared  that  it  was  the  main  object  of  his  existence 
to  preserve  peace  between  his  people  and  the  whites. 

"You  may  take  that,  sir,  for  what  it  is  worth,"  said 
Ormsby  to  Severne,  "which  is  just  nothing  at  all.  I  don't 
know  this  chief  at  all,  though  I've  seen  most  of  the  head 
men  of  this  tribe." 

"Ask  him,"  said  de  Hutten,  in  a  low  voice,  "if  his  name 
is  not  Long  Knife." 

Ormsby  did  so,  and  reported  that  the  chief  replied  in  the 
affirmative. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  de  Hutten,  in  a  strongly  agitated 
voice  to  Severue — at  the  same  time  looking  at  the  caps  on 
his  revolver  to  see  that  they  were  in  order.  "  My  dear  friend, 
I  cannot  allow  that  man  to  escape  me, — I  am  going  to  kill 
him." 


266  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"No,  no,  de  Hutten,"  said  Severne  ;  "I  cannot  permit 
that." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  when  Ormsby 
gave  an  exclamation  of  alarm,  and  an  arrow  from  Long 
Knife's  bow  whizzed  between  Severne  and  de  Hutten,  graz- 
ing the  latter's  hair.  In  an  instant  all  was  confusion.  The 
Indians  discharged  their  arrows,  and  putting  spurs  to  their 
horses  endeavored  to  escape.  They  were  not  all  quick 
enough,  however ;  a  general  volley  was  discharged  by  Sev- 
erne's  party,  and  six  of  them  fell  either  dead  or  mortally 
wounded.  One  of  his  own  men  was  killed,  and  four  were 
badly  wounded.  But  this  was  not  all.  As  soon  as  de  Hut- 
ten  felt  the  arrow  brush  his  cheek,  he  turned  round  and  fired 
at  Long  Knife.  The  ball  struck  his  horse  in  the  breast  and 
the  animal  fell  dead.  Long  Knife,  with  surprising  agility, 
disentangled  himself  from  his  saddle,  and,  plunging  into  the 
tall  grass,  endeavored  to  escape.  But  de  Hutten  was  at  his 
back,  and  another  shot  brought  his  flying  antagonist  to  the 
ground.  In  an  instant  de  Hutten  was  on  him.  "Foltz," 
he  shouted,  frantically,  "double -damned  villain!  have  I 
found  you  at  last?  Die!  die!  die!"  he  repeated,  firing  a 
shot  into  the  prostrate  body  of  his  foe  with  each  exclama- 
tion. "At  last  I  am  avenged,"  he  continued.  "  Do  you 
know  me  ?  I  am  tllrich  de  Hutten,  and  the  prophecy  has 
been  fulfilled !» 

"  I  know  you,"  said  the  dying  man,  in  German ;  "I  knew 
you  the  moment  I  saw  you,  and  understood  that  it  was  your 
life  or  mine.  I  hate  you.  I  do  not  repent.  If  I  could  kill 
you  now  I  would." 

"  What  is  this,  de  Hutten  ?"  said  Severne,  as  he  approached 
the  group.  "Do  you  know  this  Indian  ?" 

"Indian!"  shrieked  de  Hutten.  "Indian!  look  at  his 
skin."  As  he  spoke,  he  stooped  down,  and  tearing  open  the 
dying  man's  shirt,  showed  Severne  the  white  skin  under  it. 
"This  is  Rudolph  Foltz,  the  enemy  of  my  race,  whom  I 
have  spent  the  best  part  of  my  life  in  seeking,  and  who  at 
last  has  paid  the  penalty  of  his  crimes." 

"Yes, "said  the  dying  man,  "I  am  Rudolph  Foltz.  I 
have  the  advantage  of  him.  I  killed  four  of  his  family  and 
he  has  killed  me.  I  am  satisfied.  I  will  meet  him  here- 
after. Our  score  is  not  yet  settled.  No,  no.  You  were 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  267 

avenged,  Frederica.  I  curse  you,"  he  continued,  raising 
himself  on  one  arm,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  de  Hutten;  "  I 
curse  you  !"  and  then,  falling  back  on  the  grass,  he  expired 
with  a  scowl  on  his  face. 

It  was  some  time  before  everything  was  quiet  again.  Six 
of  the  Indians  were  killed,  and  several  more  were  certainly 
wounded,  as  spots  of  blood  were  found  on  the  grass  over 
which  they  had  fled.  The  men  wounded  in  Severne's  party 
were  severely  but  not  dangerously  hurt,  and  through  Law- 
rence's assistance  gave  promise  of  doing  well.  The  one 
killed  was  a  teamster,  whose  loss  it  would  be  difficult  to 
supply.  He  was  shot  through  the  heart.  -.••• 

De  Hutten  became  more  composed  after  the  death  of  his 
enemy,  and  an  expression  of  satisfaction  took  the  place  of 
the  anxious  and  expectant  one  which  had  been  present  since 
he  had  been  with  Severne. 

"  De  Hutten,"  said  Severne  to  him  as  they  sat  round  the 
camp-fire  that  night,  "yon  promised  me  once  that  you  would 
tell  me  some  portions  of  your  history.  I  can  understand 
from  what  has  occurred  to-day  that  your  life  has  been  an 
eventful  one.  If  you  can  relate  those  parts  now  without 
giving  yourself  pain,  I  should  be  much  obliged  to  you.  I 
am  sure  we  shall  be  edified  by  what  you  will  say." 

"  Yes,  my  life  has  been,  as  you  say,  an  eventful  one.  For 
fifteen  years  I  have  been  in  search  of  that  man,  and  though 
for  nearly  all  that  time  I  have  been  on  his  track,  I  never  met 
him  till  to-day.  But,  my  dear  Severne,  and  you,  my  dear 
Lawrence,  I  am  afraid  that  what  I  would  say  would  not  be 
very,  diverting.  My  life  has  not  been  a  joyous  one,  and 
though,  perhaps,  there  are  some  passages  in  it  which  are 
not  without  interest,  and  which  might  even  be  instructive,  I 
doubt  if  they  are  of  the  kind  which  would  add  to  your 
cheerfulness." 

"I  don't  particularly  care  about  being  made  cheerful  to- 
night," said  Severne.  "The  day  has  been  a  solemn  one, 
and  I  would  rather  have  the  impression  which  now  prevails 
in  my  mind  kept  up.  There  is  sometimes  a  happiness  ex- 
perienced in  being  made  miserable.  You  know,  my  dear 
fellow,  that  both  Lawrence  and  myself  are  your  friends. 
We  have  the  most  thorough  confidence  in  you,  and  whether 
you  tell  us  anything  of  the  past  or  not,  we  shall  not  lose  an 
iota  of  faith  in  you." 


268  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"Yes,"  said  Lawrence,  "we  are  only  anxious  to  hear 
your  story  if  you  can  tell  it  without  recalling  events  to  mind 
which  may  cause  you  distress.  We  don't  want  to  be  satis- 
fied in  regard  to  anything.  We  believe  in  you  fully.  But 
whatever  concerns  you,  interests  us  for  that  reason." 

"Very  well,"  said  de  Hutten,  "I  feel  that  I  ought  to 
give  you  my  confidence.  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me, 
and  but  for  you  I  should  never  have  been  made  happy  by 
the  death  of  rny  foe.  i  warn  you,  however,  that  there  are 
some  frightful  scenes  to  be  depicted.  I  can  look  back  on 
them  now  without  much  pain.  Years  have  elapsed  since 
they,  happened,  and  I  have  expiated  them  all  in  the  death  of 
that  monster  who  lies  there.  Listen,  therefore." 

One  of  the  men  came  up  with  an  armful  of  wood  which 
he  threw  on  the  fire,  and  amid  the  solemn  silence  of  the 
vast  plains,  only  broken  by  an  occasional  groan  from  one  of 
the  wounded  men,  or  by  the  tread  of  the  sentinel  as  he  ap- 
proached the  place  where  they  sat,  Ulrich  de  Hutten  thus 
told  his  history. 

ULRICH  DE  HUTTEN'S  STORY. 

"I  was  born  on  the  family  estate  in  Bohemia.  My  father 
was  a  baron  of  the  Austrian  Empire,  and  had  derived  his 
title  from  his  ancestors,  in  whose  possession  it  had  been  for 
several  centuries.  We  were  direct  descendants  of  the  great 
de  Hutten,  and  I  was  named  after  him.  I  was  a  younger 
son,  and  as  such  received  from  my  father  but  little  consider- 
ation, for  he  was  a  stern  man,  and  rarely  exhibited  tender- 
ness even  toward  those  he  most  loved.  He  appeared  to  re- 
gard me  as  a  superfluity,  as  a  kind  of  inconvenience  which 
must  be  tolerated,  out  of  a  certain  regard  for  external  pro- 
priety. As  to  loving  me,  the  idea  never  seemed  to  enter  his 
head.  My  mother,  however,  treated  me  with  all  the  more 
kindness,  and  more  than  repaid  me  for  my  father's  neglect. 
I  loved  her  with  all  my  soul.  She  was  so  sweet  and  gentle 
in  her  manners,  that  even  my  father's  gloomy  nature  was  at 
times  softened  by  her  influence. 

"I  was  educated  with  all  those  anti-republican  ideas 
which  the  nobles  of  Austria  entertain,  and  was  accustomed 
to  regard  the  peasantry  of  the  country  as  beings  created  ex- 


ROBERT   SEVERNE  269 

pressly  for  the  use  of  the  higher  classes.  It  is  perhaps 
scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  I  have  long  since  abandoned 
all  feelings  of  that  nature.  I  am  a  republican,  not  from  neces- 
sity, but  from  choice  I  have  seen  enough  of  mankind  to 
know  that  they  are  able  to  govern  themselves. 

"My  brother  was  a  high-spirited  and  noble  boy,  and  pos- 
sessed none  of  the  overbearing  spirit  which  elder  brothers 
in  Europe  are  so  apt  to  assume.  I  rarely  saw  him,  however. 
He  departed  for  the  University  at  Vienna  when  I  was 
scarcely  ten  years  old,  and  only  visited  the  castle  during  the 
vacations. 

"My  sister  was  a  wonder  to  me.  She  was  strikingly 
beautiful,  but  there  gradually  came  over  her  disposition  a 
melancholy  and  a  reserve  toward  me  for  which  I  could  not 
account.  Once  we  used  to  play  together,  and  she  was  as 
blithesome  as  the  lark.  But  by  degrees  she  changed  entirely, 
and  became  thoughtful  and  sedate.  She  seemed  to  shun 
my  company,  and  when  I,  with  childlike  obstinacy,  would 
force  my  presence  upon  her,  she  would  steal  away,  and  retire 
to  some  unfrequented  corner  of  the  castle  or  grounds,  where 
I  would  find  her  weeping  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 
She  was  a  year  my  senior  by  birth,  but  far  older  in  acquire- 
ments and  intellect. 

"  I  was  afraid  to  press  her  to  tell  me  the  cause  of  this 
strange  demeanor,  for  whenever  I  mentioned  the  subject  she 
would  fix  her  large  blue  eyes  upon  me  and  gaze  so  earnestly 
into  my  face  that  I  trembled  with  an  indefinable  fear,  whether 
of  evil  to  her  or  myself  I  could  not  tell. 

"There  was  also  the  chaplain.  Father  Rudolph  was 
not  a  man  whose  appearance  pleased  me.  I  dreaded  him, 
and  yet  he  was  kind  to  me,  and  seemingly  devoted  to 
the  services  of  the  Church.  He  was  a  small,  well-formed 
man.  His  piercing  black  eyes  and  his  thin  and  com- 
pressed lips  indicated  him  to  be  a  person  of  energy  and 
decision  of  character.  He  never,  however,  seemed  to  do 
anything  from  impulse  or  feeling;  all  his  acts  were  done 
calmly  and  deliberately,  and  apparently  because  he  was  fully 
satisfied  of  their  expediency  after  due  reflection.  He  was  a 
peasant's  son,  and  was  born  on  the  estate.  Exhibiting 
talent  of  no  ordinary  kind,  my  father  had  sent  him  to  Rome 
to  be  educated  for  the  Church ;  and  since  his  admission  to 

24 


270  ROBERT   SB  VERNE. 

orders  and  return  to  Bohemia  he  had  filled  the  post  of  do- 
mestic chaplain.  He  stood  high  in  the  estimation  of  both 
fmy  father  and  mother,  who  respected  him  as  much  for  his 
seeming  piety  as  for  his  learning  and  zeal. 

"I  was  about  fourteen  years  old  when  the  events  occurred 
which  I  am  about  to  relate.  They  made  an  impression  upon 
me  which  has  not  been  diminished  with  time,  and  determined, 
in  a  great  measure,  the  then  budding  traits  of  my  character. 
Even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  many  years,  I  recall  them  shud- 
deringly;  but  now  that  I  have  made  the  wretch  who  caused 
them  atone  for  his  treachery  and  crimes,  I  can  think  of  them 
without  experiencing  the  anguish  which  once  filled  my  heart 
at  their  recollection. 

"One  morning  while  sitting  in  the  garden  with  my  sister 
reading  Virgil  (she  sometimes  read  with  me,  but  always 
with  a  seriousness  which  made  what  was  formerly  a  pleasure 
appear  like  a  task),  she  stopped  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  a 
sentence,  let  the  book  fall,  and  turning  as  pale  as  death, 
darted  into  the  house  with  a  rapidity  which  defied  my  efforts 
to  overtake  her.  Adlerfels  was  a  large,  old  baronial  castle, 
and  like  all  buildings  of  the  kind  possessed  numerous  long, 
narrow,  and  dark  passages  in  almost  every  part  of  it.  I 
ran  after  her  at  the  top  of  my  speed,  hardly  knowing  why; 
but  she  reached  a  door  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  passages  I 
have  mentioned,  which  she  hastily  opened,  and  entering, 
closed  it  behind  her.  When  I  arrived  there  it  was  securely 
locked.  I  placed  my  eye  to  the  key-hole,  but  saw  nothing ; 
then  my  ear,  but  all  was  still. 

"  I  was  resolved  to  unrav.el  the  mystery.  I  walked  away 
from  the  door,  making  as  much  noise  as  possible,  and 
after  proceeding  a  few  yards,  hid  myself  against  one  of  the 
buttresses  which  supported  the  archway.  In  a  few  moments 
the  door  was  cautiously  unlocked,  and  I  heard  some  one 
come  out  and  walk  about  the  passage,  as  though  looking  to 
see  if  there  were  any  listeners.  The  steps  approached  close 
to  me.  I  trembled  with  fear.  I  was  but  a  child,  and  though 
brave  enough  as  far  as  known  dangers  were  concerned,  I 
was  easily  terrified  by  one  which  was  attended  with  mystery. 
It  is  so  with  us  all,  even  after  we  reach  maturity.  We  fear 
most  those  perils  which  we  do  not  understand  or  to  which 
we  are  not  accustomed.  The  physician  walks  calmly  amid 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  271 

all  kinds  of  pestilence,  but  would  tremble  if  obliged  to  face 
a  battery  for  the  first  time;  and  the  soldier  cares  nothing  for 
bullets,  but  shudders  if  he  is  told  the  cholera  is  in  the  camp. 
In  this  as  in  other  things  'familiarity  breeds  contempt.' 

"Apparently  satisfied  with  the  scrutiny,  the  person  who 
had  come  out  into  the  passage  slowly  retraced  his  steps,  and 
I  heard  the  door  closed  and  bolted ;  I  removed  my  shoes  and 
noiselessly  approached.  I  again  listened  attentively.  This 
time  I  heard  a  voice,  which  I  recognized  as  that  of  Father 
Rudolph,  speaking  in  a  language  I  did  not  understand. 
My  sister  replied ;  she  also  spoke  in  an  unknown  tongue. 
Again  the  first  voice  spoke,  and  now  in  German. 

"  '-Bertha,'  it  said,  'you  have  sinned  not  only  against  me 
but  against  the  order  of  which  you  have  become  a  member. 
You  were  told  when  admitted  to  its  mysteries  that  the  first 
duty  yon  had  to  accustom  yourself  to  perform  was  obedi- 
ence. You  have  failed  so  frequently  in  this  as  to  deserve 
the  most  severe  punishment  at  my  hands.  If  you  are  not 
more  attentive,  how  do  you  expect  to  perform  properly  that 
great  act  which  will  soon  be  required  of  you  ?  Am  I  con- 
stantly to  overlook  your  derelictions?  Have  you  forgotten 
your  vows  and  the  penalties  to  which  you  render  yourself 
liable  by  your  misconduct  ?' 

"'Oh,  pardon  me!'  exclaimed  Bertha,  piteously.  'I 
forgot  the  hour.  I  came  the  moment  I  remembered.  I 
would  not  disobey  you  for  the  world.' 

" '  It  is  well,  Bertha,'  replied  the  priest ;  'yon  are  forgiven ; 
see  that  you  offend  not  again,  for  the  next  time  pardon  will 
be  more  difficult.  Aud  now  tell  me,  does  your  mind  increase 
in  power  over  your  earthly  feelings,  and  are  yon  yet  pre- 
pared to  execute  the  task  assigned  yon  ?' 

" '  Not  yet,  oh,  not  yet !'  answered  Bertha.  '  I  still  love 
them  all,  though  not  so  dearly  as  I  once  did.  I  wept  last 
night  when  my  mother  came  to  my  bed.  and  bending  over 
me,  kissed  my  cheek.  And  my  brother  Ulrich  !  He  seems 
so  troubled  that  I  do  not  laugh  and  jest  with  him  !  Must 
I  cease  to  love  him  also  ?' 

"  '  Yes,  you  must  not  only  cease  to  love  him,  but  you  must 
hate  him,  Bertha — him  and  all  others  of  this  accursed  house. 
Think  you  I  have  toiled  for  nothing,  that  I  have  spent  a  life- 
time in  the  service  of  my  foe,  that  I  have  dissembled,  and 


272  ROBERT   SE  VERNE. 

bowed,  and  cringed  before  him,  that  for  these  many  years  I 
have  had  my  wrongs  constantly  before  me,  ever  looking  for- 
ward to  the  vengeance  for  which  alone  I  have  lived,  and 
then  in  the  end  to  yield  one  jot  or  tittle  of  that,  the  con- 
templation of  which  has  alone  made  life  endurable  ?  Not 
so,  Bertha,  not  so.  None  can  be  spared.  All  are  neces- 
sary ;  and  even  then  I  will  not  have  repaid  one-tenth  of 
what  I  owe.  Although  you  are  the  daughter  of  him  who 
has  injured  me,  I  love  you,  and  the  angels  have  chosen  you 
as  the  instrument  of  my  vengeance.' 

"  'What  was  this  great  wrong  my  father  did  you  ?  Oh, 
is  it  not  possible  to  wash  it  out  by  other  means  than  by 
blood  r 

"'I  cannot  tell  you  now,  Bertha,  what  it  was.  In  time 
you  shall  know  all.  But  as  I  have  told  you  before,  and  as 
I  tell  you  now  for  the  last  time,  nothing  but  blood  can  atone 
for  my  injuries.  Ay,  oceans  of  it  would  scarcely  suffice. 
You  cannot  see  my  heart,  Bertha,  and  you  do  not  under- 
stand these  things.  It  is  now  nearly  four  years  since  you 
became  a  member  of  our  most  sacred  order.  You  have  not 
made  rapid  progress.  You  must  strive  harder,  my  child. 
What  is  the  body  compared  to  the  soul  ?  What  are  the 
affections  of  this  life  compared  to  those  which  await  us  in 
heaven  ?  Are  not  the  few  short  years  of  trouble  here  suffi- 
ciently atoned  for  by  the  eternity  of  happiness  which  awaits 
us  in  the  world  to  come  ?  You  will  soon  be  called  upon  to 
show  yourself  a  fit  companion  for  the  angels  of  heaven.  In 
the  mean  time  exercise  yourself  well  in  the  course  I  have 
pointed  out  to  you.' 

'"And  are  the  angels  pleased  with  me  now?'  said 
Bertha. 

"'Yes,  but  they  will  love  you  more  as  you  become  more 
and  more  zealous  in  our  cause.  To  deserve  the  perfect  love 
of  spiritual  beings  you  must  shake  off  all  that  clings  to  you 
of  earth.  Earthly  love  is  all  corrupt,  and  based  on  selfish- 
ness and  sin.  We  must  hate  the  world  and  all  that  is  in  it. 
God  hates  it.  He  has  told  us  so  The  saints  and  other 
glorious  men  and  women  of  the  Church  hate  it,  and  hence 
they  shut  themselves  up  away  from  all  its  allurements  and 
passions,  and  meditate  upon  the  glories  of  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem. Neither  father,  nor  mother,  nor  brothers,  nor  sisters, 


ROBERT   SE  VERNE.  273 

are  aught  to  them.  It  must  be  so  with  you,  Bertha.  And 
now  you  can  go ;  reflect  upon  what  I  have  said,  and  be  care- 
ful and  discreet.' 

"At  these  words  I  hastily  retreated,  and  hid  myself  in  a 
dark  and  narrow  recess  which  led  from  the  passage,  and 
terminated  at  a  door  opening  I  knew  not  whither.  In  a  few 
moments  Bertha  passed  by  me,  as  pale  as  marble,  and  the 
tears  still  standing  in  her  eyes,  and  shortly  afterward  Father 
Rudolph  strode  past.  He  peered  into  the  darkness  which 
sheltered  me,  and  I  had  a  good  look  at  his  face.  There 
was  a  smile  of  triumph  on  it,  and  he  muttered  some  words 
as  he  went  by,  of  which  'Frederica'  was  the  only  one  I 
couM  distinguish.  When  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had 
entirely  died  away,  I  came  out  from  my  hiding-place,  and 
going  to  my  own  room,  sat  down  to  think  over  what  I  had 
heard. 

"  What  was  the  object  of  the  mysterious  conversation  I 
had  heard  ?  I  understood  enough  of  it  to  know  that  some 
scheme  of  vengeance  was  on  hand  against  our  family,  and 
that  Bertha  was  to  execute  it.  But  I  was  superstitious,  and 
the  words  of  Father  Rudolph  about  'our  sacred  order,'  and 
the  agency  of  the  angels  in  the  matter,  somewhat  staggered 
me.  I  was  young,  too  young  to  understand  the  whole  tenor 
of  Father  Rudolph's  words.  At  one  time  I  resolved  to 
reveal  all  to  my  father,  but  upon  reflection  I  changed  my 
mind ;  for  what  would  my  unsustained  story  avail  against 
any  version  Father  Rudolph  might  give?  I  felt  assured 
from  what  I  had  heard  that  Bertha  would  die  rather  than 
betray  her  secret.  I  could  not,  therefore,  appeal  to  her. 

"I  had  but  one  course  open  to  me,  and  that  was  to  play 
the  game  of  dissimulation,  and  this  I  resolved  to  d<>. 
Though  no  match  for  Father  Rudolph  in  duplicity  and 
cunning,  I  had  one  great  advantage.  I  knew  of  his  scheme, 
and  he  was  ignorant  of  my  knowledge. 

"I  therefore  noticed  particularly  the  demeanor  of  the 
priest.  It  was  always  the  same,  no  matter  under  what  cir- 
cumstances I  regarded  it.  He  still  performed  the  services 
of  the  Church  regularly,  still  blessed  us  all  when  we  parted 
for  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  thanked  God  that  we  were 
all  allowed  to  meet  once  more.  There  was  not  the  least 
evidence  that  there  was  any  secret  understanding  between 

24* 


£71  ROBERT   SEVERN'S. 

him  and  Bertha.  He  took  no  more  notice  of  her  than  of 
me,  and  I  never  discovered  even  a  look  of  intelligence  pass 
from  one  to  the  other.  I  did  not  confine  my  observations 
to  him.  Often  would  I  cautiously  approach  the  door  I  have 
mentioned,  but  it  was  always  securely  locked,  and  all  within 
was  perfectly  silent. 

"Bertha  acted  as  usual.  I  never  gave  her  reason,  either 
by  word  or  action,  to  suspect  that  I  was  wiser  than  she 
thought  me.  I  was,  however,  greatly  changed.  New  feel- 
ings had  taken  possession  of  my  heart.  I  felt  more  manly, 
more  determined,  more  crafty  than  before.  My  mother  was 
the  only  one  to  notice  the  alteration,  for  I  could  not  conceal 
from  her  watchful  eye  that  which  others  failed  to. perceive. 
Several  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  disclosing  to  her  all 
that  I  had  discovered,  but  I  dreaded  the  influence  of  the 
priest,  and  therefore  refrained  from  an  act  which  might  have 
thwarted  all  his  schemes. 

"  Time  rolled  on.  I  had  not  diminished  in  vigilance,  but 
all  ray  watching  had  led  to  nothing.  Preparations  were 
being  made  at  the  castle  for  my  brother's  return.  He  had 
completed  the  course  of  education  at  Vienna,  and  was  daily 
expected  to  arrive.  At  last  he  came.  All  the  peasantry 
of  the  estate  had  assembled  on  the  lawn  to  greet  him,  and 
when  he  leaped  from  the  carriage  they  raised  a  shout  of 
welcome  which  brought  a  blush  of  pleasure  to  his  cheek. 
He  was  in  truth  a  noble-looking  youth,  and  as  my  father 
gazed  upon  him,  his  eyes  glistened  with  pride  and  satisfac- 
tion that  one  so  handsome  was  his  son  and  heir. 

"Fritz  (so  my  brother  was  named)  seemed  pleased  with 
me.  He  joked  with  me  on  my  rapid  growth,  and  said  I 
would  be  a  worthy  successor  to  him  at  the  University. 
Bertha  was  not  present  when  he  arrived.  No  one  but  my- 
self appeared  to  notice  her  absence,  for  all  were  too  much 
engrossed  with  my  brother.  Father  Rudolph  welcomed 
him  with  every  manifestation  of  pleasure,  and  entered 
heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion. 

"Seeing  his  attention  occupied,  1  resolved  to  attempt  an 
entrance  into  the  room  I  have  mentioned,  and  where  I  had 
no  doubt  of  finding  Bertha.  I  left  the  parlor  unobserved, 
and  bent  my  steps  toward  the  part  of  the  house  in  which  the 
apartment  in  question  was  situated.  I  quietly  approached 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  275 

the  door  and  looked  through  the  key-hole.  My  suspicion 
.was  correct.  Bertha  was  seated  at  a  table  opposite.  A 
large  book  lay  open  before  her,  which  she  v/as  attentively 
reading.  She  betrayed  no  signs  of  emotion  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, her  countenance  wore  an  expression  of  repose  and 
contentment  I  had  never  before  observed.  There  was  a 
lifelessness  about  it,  however,  which  pained  me,  for  she 
seemed  to  have  lost  the  soul  which  once  shone  so  brightly 
through  her  eyes.  I  had  heard  of  magic  arts  by  which  the 
spirit  could  be  removed  from  the  body,  and  with  the  super- 
stition common  at  that  time  throughout  Germany,  a  suspi- 
cion crossed  my  mind  that  Father  Rudolph  had  taken  away 
her  soul. 

"As  I  leaned  forward  to  observe  her  more  closely,  my 
right  hand  was  pressed  with  increased  force  against  the  wall 
beside  the  pillar  which  supported  the  doorway.  I  was  as- 
tonished to  feel  it  yield  before  the  pressure,  and  as  I  con- 
tinued to  bear  against  it,  it  slowly  turned  upon  a  pivot  and 
left  a  small  recess  open  before  me.  The  aperture  was  not 
more  than  two  feet  square.  I  crawled  through  it,  and  found 
the  closet  much  larger  than  I  had  at  first  sight  considered 
it.  A  small  window,  scarcely  as  large  as  my  hand,  cut  into 
the  thick  wall,  afforded  light  enough  for  me  to  see  that  the 
recess  was  empty.  I  closed  the  opening  behind  me,  the 
panel  shutting  with  a  sharp  click  which  somewhat  startled 
me.  I  then  turned  toward  the  window.  What  was  my 
surprise  to  find  that  it  opened  into  the  room  upon  which 
my  thoughts  had  so  long  been  placed  !  There  before  me 
sat  Bertha,  so  much  engrossed  with  the  subject  which  en- 
gaged her  attention  that  she  had  not  been  disturbed  by  the 
noise  I  had  made.  I  took  a  hurried  survey  of  the  room.  It 
contained  a  table,  two  chairs,  and  an  open  wardrobe,  in 
which  latter  hung  a  singular-looking  dress  of  black  silk  and 
a  red  mask.  Upon  the  dress  was  painted  a  large  red  hand 
grasping  a  skull  transfixed  by  a  dagger,  underneath  which 
were  some  words  which  I  did  not  understand.  On  the  table 
at  which  Bertha  sat  were  a  retort,  a  spirit-lamp,  several 
glass  flasks,  and  three  small  phials,  each  of  the  latter  contain- 
ing a  colored  liquid.  There  were  also  several  old  books 
bound  in  vellum  and  closed  with  silver  clasps.  The  one 
from  which  Bertha  was  reading  was  printed  in  Latin.  It 


27  6  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

was  so  close  to  me  that  I  could  read  the  title,  and  I  have 
never  since  forgotten  it.  It  was  DE  ALCHIMIA  OPUSCULA 
COMPLURA  VETERUM  PHILOSOPHORUM. 

"  On  the  wall  opposite  me  was  written  :   HE  WHO  GAINS 

A  VICTORY  OVER  ANOTHER  IS  HUMAN,  BUT  HE  WHO  CON- 
QUERS HIMSELF  is  DIVINE.  And  over  the  door :  SEEK 

NOT  TO  RETRACE  THY  STEPS,  FOR  BETWEEN  THEE  AND  THE 
WORLD  THERE  CAN  HENCEFORTH  BE  NO  COMMUNION. 

"While  I  was  wondering  at  the  strange  sight  before  me 
Lheard  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  in  the  passage, 
and  ere  I  had  time  to  be  greatly  frightened,  the  door  of  the 
room  opened  and  Father  Rudolph  entered. 

"Bertha  raised  her  eyes  from  the  book  before  her  and 
looked  at  him  steadfastly.  '  Has  my  brother  arrived  ?'  she 
at  last  said,  calmly. 

"  '  He  has,'  replied  the  priest. 

" '  And  is  all  prepared  for  the  great  act  which  seals  my 
covenant  with  Heaven  ?' 

'"All  is  ready,  Bertha.  The  hour  approaches.  Nerve 
your  heart  for  this  solemn  duty;  falter  not  in  the  execution, 
and  you  may  DEMAND  the  reward  of  your  fidelity.' 

"  '  I  am  firm,'  answered  Bertha.  '  I  have  conquered  all 
earthly  feelings.  I  love  no  one.  See,  Father,  do  I  tremble? 
Am  I  not  calm  ?  There  is  not  one  tie  that  binds  me  to  this 
earth ;  and  when  I  have  convinced  you  of  it,  we  will  go,  and, 
shutting  ourselves  out  from  the  world,  wait  with  patience 
for  our  departure  to  Paradise.' 

" '  True,  Bertha,  true,'  said  the  priest.  '  I  see  you  are  pre- 
pared, and  that  there  is  no  sign  of  wavering ;  but  before  the 
final  step  is  taken,  I  wish  to  let  you  hear  the  last  revelations 
the  spirit  will  make  to  you.  You  will  then  be  if  possible 
more  fully  assured  of  the  righteousness  of  your  course,  and 
of  the  benefits  you  and  I  will  derive  from  it.' 

"  Father  Rudolph  then  opened  a  drawer  in  the  table  and 
took  from  it  a  brass  ring  about  two  feet  in  diameter.  He 
touched  a  spring  and  an  opening  was  disclosed,  and  I  saw 
that  the  ring  was  hollow.  Into  the  opening  he  poured  a 
quantity  of  a  pale,  thin  fluid  from  a  large  bottle  which  he 
took  from  a  shelf,  and  then,  as  he  placed  the  ring  on  the 
table,  I  saw  that  the  upper  surface  was  pierced  by  numerous 
small  holes. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE. 


277 


"On  the  table  with  the  ring  he  next  placed  a  silver  plate, 
which  he  took  from  a  pocket  in  the  breast  of  his  coat.  Upon 
this  plate  were  traced  in  black  and  red  enamel  several  letters 
and  figures  surrounding  two  interlaced  triangles,  called,  as 
I  have  since  ascertained,  a  pentagramme.  But  why  should 
I  stop  to  describe  this  plate  as  I  have  it  here,  and  you  can 
inspect  it  for  yourselves  ?" 

De  Hutten  here  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  a 
silver  plate  about  four  inches  in  diameter,  which  was  at- 
tached to  a  gold  chain  passing  around  his  neck.  Removing 
the  chain,  he  handed  it  to  Severne  and  Lawrence  for  their 
examination.  The  plate  was  round;  the  figures  were  marked 
upon  it  in  black  enamel  and  the  letters  in  red. 


"I  know  it,"  said  Severne,  smiling.  "It  is  the  penta- 
gramme, and  by  it  the  mind  controls  the  elements,  and  sub- 
dues the  demons  of  the  air,  the  spirits  of  fire,  the  specters 
of  water,  and  the  phantoms  of  the  earth.  It  is  fully  described 
by  Paracelsus  in  his  Occult  Philosophy." 

"What  a  wonderful  figure!"  said  Lawrence.  "One  is 
almost  lost  in  the  attempt  to  trace  and  comprehend  its  inter- 


278  ROBERT    8E VERNE. 

lacings.  But  go  on,  de  Hutten.  You  were  correct  in  call- 
ing your  history  a  sorrowful  one.  What  a  monster  of  iniquity 
that  priest  was  !" 

De  Hutten  took  the  plate,  and  putting  the  chain  again 
around  his  neck,  placed  his  treasure  in  his  pocket  and  re- 
sumed his  narrative. 

"You  will  ascertain  presently  how  this  came  into  my 
possession.  Without  it  I  could  have  done  nothing,  for  so 
long  as  any  one  else  had  it,  that  one  was  my  superior.  But 
I  must  not  anticipate. 

"  The  plate  having  been  carefully  laid  in  the  middle  of  the 
space  inclosed  by  the  brass  ring,  the  priest  said  a  few  words 
over  it,  and  sprinkled  a  small  quantity  of  a  blue  powder  within 
the  circle.  He  next  opened  a  recess  in  the  wall  and  took 
from  it  a  small  silver  lamp,  which  was  burning  with  a  pale- 
green  flame  when  be  removed  it.  For  a  moment  he  ap- 
peared to  be  confused,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  his  part,  for  he 
stood  looking  at  the  arrangement  without  apparently  know- 
ing what  to  do.  Bertha,  however,  came  to  him  and  whis- 
pered a  word  which  I  did  not  understand.  It  was  enough 
for  him,  as  he  immediately  passed  the  flame  rapidly  around 
the  ring,  and  in  an  instant  it  was  surmounted  with  a  sheet 
of  flame  throughout  its  whole  extent.  The  color  of  the 
blaze  changed  from  red  to  yellow,  and  from  yellow  to  green, 
and  back  again,  continually. 

"  Father  Rudolph  then  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  plate,  cross- 
ing his  hands  over  his  breast,  and  bending  his  head  forward 
in  a  reverential  manner,  commenced  to  speak.  At  first  his 
voice  was  very  low,  and  I  could  not  distinguish  a  word  ;  but 
by  degrees  he  spoke  louder,  and  I  found  that  he  was  invok- 
ing the  spirits  in  the  French  language,  which  I  understood 
tolerably  well.  Suddenly  he  raised  his  hands  aloft  and  called 
aloud  in  a  language  I  did  not  understand.  Occasionally  I 
heard  the  words  ADONAI  and  SADDAI,  and  the  conjuration 
concluded  with  AMEN.  I  looked  at  the  table  while  he  was 
speaking.  The  figures  on  the  silver  plate  had  assumed  a 
deep-red  color,  and  the  flame  from  the  ring  was  as  black  as 
pitch.  Bertha  stood  erect,  her  arms  crossed  on  her  breast, 
and  her  eyes  gazing  vacantly  at  the  priest. 

"As  the  latter  concluded  his  address,  the  flame  went  out 
with  a  slight  explosion,  and  the  figures  on  the  silver  plate 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  279 

resumed  their  black  color.  The  priest  now  went  to  the 
wardrobe  and  put  on  the  mask  and  gown  which  hung  there. 
Returning  to  the  table,  he  passed  his  hands  through  the  air 
over  the  plate,  and  called  aloud  three  times  in  a  language 
unknown  to  me.  The  skull  and  red  hand  stood  out  in  bold 
relief  upon  his  breast,  and  the  red  mask,  through  which  shone 
his  jet-black  eyes,  appeared  to  sparkle  with  a  more  than 
earthly  crimson.  As  he  said  the  last  word,  a  tall  figure, 
clothed  entirely  in  white,  became  indistinctly  visible.  At 
first  it  looked  like  a  mist,  but  gradually  it  assumed  a  more 
solid  form,  and  at  last  was  clearly  recognizable  as  that  of 
an  aged  man,  who  might  have  been,  from  his  appearance, 
several  hundred  years  old.  I  was  half  dead  with  terror, 
and  strove  to  withdraw  from  the  window.  I  found  I  could 
not  stir.  I  think  I  should  have  fainted  from  fear ;  but  the 
voice  of  the  priest  recalled  my  sinking  strength. 

"  Speaking  now  in  German,  and  bending  his  head  low 
before  the  old  man,  the  priest  said : 

"'It  is  well,  and  I  thank  you.  This  is  the  last  time  I 
shall  call  you,  for  your  work  and  mine  will  soon  be  over. 
And  now,  by  the  sacred  star  which  has  evoked  you  from 
your  retreat,  and  which  I  now  raise  before  you,  I  adjure  you 
to  answer  the  questions  I  shall  propound.' 

"As  he  uttered  these  last  words,  Father  Rudolph  took 
the  silver  plate  from  the  table  and  held  it  aloft. 

"As  he  did  so,  the  figure  bowed  low,  and  said :  '  Speak  !' 

"'  Tell  me,'  said  the  priest,  'what  shall  be  the  end  of  the 
work  I  am  now  engaged  in.' 

"'  Peace  !'  replied  the  spirit. 

"'And  for  the  child  ?'  continued  Father  Rudolph. 

"'Forgetfulness  and  rest,'  said  the  spirit. 

" '  For  whom  will  there  be  peace  ?'  asked  the  priest. 

"  '  For  those  who  will  leave  this  earth,'  answered  the  spirit. 

"'And  will  there  not  be  peace  for  me  ?'  asked  the  priest. 

'"No!  You  will  satisfy  your  vengeance;  you  will  fulfill 
their  destiny,  and  one  of  their  blood  will  accomplish  yours.' 

"'And  what  will  be  my  destiny?' 

"'I  am  not  permitted  to  reveal  it,'  replied  the  spirit. 

"  Bertha  now  approached  the  priest  and  whispered  a  few 
words  to  him. 

"Turning  again  to  the  spirit,  he  said  :    '  The  child  wishes 


280  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

to  know  whether  or  not  in  eternity  she  will  be  united  to 
those  she  once  loved  in  this  world.' 

" '  She  will,'  replied  the  spirit. 

"'Then,'  said  the  priest,  taking  the  plate  again  into  his 
hands  and  elevating  it  above  his  head,  'depart  and  tell  your 
master  I  will  take  care  of  my  own  destiny,  and  of  that  blood 
which  has  wronged  me.' 

"  The  spirit  smiled  contemptuously,  and  bowing  low  be- 
fore the'emblems  on  the  silver  plate,  faded  gradually  from 
my  sight. 

"  'I  am  satisfied,'  said  Bertha,  '  and  ready  to  execute  my 
task.  Prepare  me  for  it.  Every  moment's  delay  is  so  much 
lost  from  the  store  of  happiness  prepared  for  us.' 

"  'All  is  ready,  Bertha,'  replied  Father  Rudolph.  'And 
now  hear  what  I  have  to  say,  for  we  have  yet  a  few  mo- 
ments to  spare.'  He  then  removed  the  gown  and  mask, 
and,  taking  Bertha's  hand,  spoke  as  follows: 

'"Over  four  years  ago  I  found  you  a  worldly-minded 
child.  You  loved  earth  more  than  heaven,  and  your  thoughts 
were  more  of  your  father,  mother,  and  brothers,  than  of  the 
saints  and  angels  of  a  better  world.  It  was  painful  to  me 
that  one  so  beautiful  and  so  richly  gifted  in  intellect,  should 
remain  in  ignorance  of  the  happiness  of  a  more  than  mortal 
life. 

"'I  interested  myself  in  you,  for  I  had  another  object  to 
attain  most  dear  to  my  heart.  I  found  that  with  patience  I 
could  mould  your  mind  to  such  a  form  as  to  fit  it  for  a  higher 
sphere  of  existence.  I  labored  hard  to  impress  my  ideas 
upon  you.  I  conversed  with  you  and  gave  you  learned 
books  to  read.  Ere  long  you  were  initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  that  secret  but  mighty  order,  the  members  of  which 
are  able  to  hold  communication  with  the  spirits  of  the  dead 
and  the  ever  living.  You  still,  however,  clung  to  the  beings 
of  this  world ;  but  now  you  have  shaken  off  the  fetters  of 
humanity,  and  in  obedience  to  the  orders  of  angels,  com- 
municated through  me,  are  about  to  execute  the  deed  for 
which  my  soul  is  athirst.  Much  as  I  desire  its  performance, 
if  your  heart  goes  not  with  the  act,  refrain.  I  wish  no  feel- 
ing of  fear  to  govern  you.  Look  upon  it  as  a  righteous 
duty,  and  perform  it  because  you  deem  it  just.  Your  father 
wronged  me  in  my  youth  so  deeply,  that  I  dare  not  dwell 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  281 

upon  it  now,  lest  I  forget  that  yon  are  no  longer  of  his  kin. 
I  have  sworn  to  destroy  all  of  his  name  but  one,  who  should 
be  the  instrument  of  my  vengeance.  You  are  that  instru- 
ment, and  you  are  reserved  for  a  state  of  happiness  far  be- 
yond all  you  have  ever  conceived  as  possible  in  your  wildest 
dreams. 

"  'And  now  listen  to  the  directions  I  am  about  to  give 
you*  and  follow  them  implicitly.  This  phial  contains  the 
essence  by  which  the  duty  assigned  to  you  is  to  be  accom- 
plished.' 

"He  took  one  of  the  small  phials  from  the  table  and  placed 
it  in  Bertha's  hand. 

"'The  dinner  hour  has  nearly  arrived,'  he  continued. 
'Before  the  meal,  all  will,  as  is  customary  on  the  occasion 
of  a  friend's  arrival,  drink  to  his  health  and  prosperity. 
One  drop  of  the  contents  of  that  phial  placed  in  each  wine- 
glass will  produce  the  desired  effect.  Before  yon  go,  I  wish 
you  to  sign  this  paper.  I  will  read  it. 

"'I,  Bertha  de  Hutten,  do  declare,  of  my  own  free  will, 
that  I  have  ceased  to  love  my  father  and  mother,  and  all 
others  who  are  related  to  me;  that  I  have  this  day  poisoned 
all  of  my  name  within  reach,  and  this  because  of  the  wrong 
done  by  my  father  to  Rudolph  Foltz  on  the  twenty-third 
day  of  October,  1824.' 

"Bertha  took  a  pen  and  wrote  upon  the  paper.  'Well 
done  !'  exclaimed  the  priest,  looking  at  what  she  had  writ- 
ten.., 'BERTHA  DE  HUTTEN!'  'Boldly  signed!  No  one 
can  deny  the  authenticity  of  that  signature !' 

"  He  then  folded  the  paper  and  gave  it  to  Bertha. 

" '  This  you  will  put  under  your  father's  plate,'  he  re- 
sumed, 'immediately  after  having  complied  with  my  direc- 
tions regarding  the  wineglasses.  Be  quick,  cautious,  and 
certain  in  the  execution.  The  family  has  not  yet  assembled 
in  the  dining-room,  and  you  will  have  time  to  act  without 
being  suspected  till  success  is  attained.  Rejoin  me  here. 
I  will  await  you.  They  will  seek  for  us  in  this  room,  but  I 
have  prepared  for  our  flight,  and  the  moment  you  return,  we 
will  depart  together  for  a  home  of  happiness  ready  for  you. 
Now  go.  I  see  you  are  firm  and  determined.' 

"  Bertha  silently  left  the  room.  No  flush  of  excitement 
mantled  her  cheeks ;  no  gleam  of  enthusiasm  sparkled  in 

25 


282  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

her  eyes.  Calm  and  passionless  she  went  forth  on  her  mur- 
derous errand. 

"  I  had  heard  and  witnessed  enough.  God  only  knows 
how  I  had  been  sustained  through  the  terrible  scenes  and 
conversation  which  had  transpired.  But  I  took  no  time  to 
think  of  them.  It  was  for  me  to  prevent  the  atrocious 
schemes  of  the  priest  from  being  successful.  I  hurried 
toward  the  door  through  which  I  had  entered,  careless 
whether  heard  by  the  priest  or  not.  I  forced  myself  against 
it  with  all  the  strength  I  was  master  of,  but  it  resisted  my 
efforts.  I  sought  for  the  spring,  but  in  vain.  I  called 
aloud  for  assistance,  but  no  one  answered  me.  If  the  priest 
heard  my  cries,  he  paid  no  attention  to  them.  I  prayed  to 
God  for  aid,  and  even  he  was  deaf  to  my  supplications.  In 
the  frenzy  of  despair  I  dashed  myself  violently  against  the 
panel,  till  at  length,  utterly  worn  out,  I  fell  upon  the  floor 
in  an  unconscious  state. 

"  I  must  have  remained  in  this  condition  for  several  hours, 
for  when  I  regained  my  consciousness  there  was  no  longer 
any  light  admitted  through  the  little  window  which  opened 
into  the  adjoining  room.  I  staggered  toward  it,  and  looked 
through.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  burned  a  dim  taper, 
by  the  flickering  light  of  which  I  discovered  a  figure 
crouching  close  to  the  wall,  and  on  the  floo.r  three  irregular 
dark  masses,  the  character  of  which  I  could  not  distinguish. 

"  By  degrees  my  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness, 
and  I  saw  that  the  figure  against  the  wall  was  Bertha.  I 
called  her  by  name.  She  started,  and  sprang  toward  me. 
'  Who  are  you  ?'  she  exclaimed. 

"  'I  am  your  brother  Ulrich,  Bertha,'  I  answered. 

"'Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  Ulrich,  dear  Ulrich!'  she  replied. 
'Then  you  are  .with  me  in  heaven?  I  thought  the  spirit 
would  not  have  spoken  falsely  to  me.  But  where  are  my 
father  and  mother  and  Frilz?  See  !  here  are  their  bodies; 
but  their  spirits,  Ulrich,  their  spirits, — where  are  they  ?  Did 
you  not  pass  them  on  your  way  here  ?' 

'"Their  bodies!  Oh,  Bertha,  what  have  you  done?'  I 
exclaimed,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  '  Why,  Ulrich,  are  you  not  happy?  Come  to  me,  dear 
brother !  Come  and  I  will  tell  you  how  I  pleased  the  an- 
gels, and  how  I  am  now  a  spirit.  Oh,  I  have  acted  so 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  283 

nobly,  and  they  tell  me  so  every  moment !  I  was  fearful 
you  were  never  coming:,  and  I  felt  lonely  even  here.  But 
now  I  am  so  happy.  Hark  !  Here  come  onr  dear  friends. 
No  !  They  would  not  tread  so  loudly.  The  demons  are 
coming  again  to  try  and  drag  me  away.  They  were  here  a 
little  while  ago,  but  I  would  not  go  with  them,  and  the  an- 
gels sent  them  away  without  me.' 

"I  heard  the  tread  of  many  feet  near  the  door.  It  was 
opened  suddenly,  and  a  number  of  persons  bearing  lights 
entered.  I  recognized  among  them  several  old  retainers  of 
the  estate.  I  quickly  made  myself  known,  and  with  axes 
and  crow-bars  they  soon  burst  in  the  panel  and  released  me 
from  ray  prison.  As  I  entered  the  room,  Bertha  rushed  to- 
ward me,  but  I  heeded  her  not.  I  prostrated  myself  beside 
the  dead  body  of  my  mother,  and  gave  way  to  the  anguish  of 
my  heart.  No  one  disturbed  nie.  All  respected  my  grief, 
and  stood  in  solemn  silence  around  me.  Among  the  num- 
ber assembled  were  several  officers  of  justice,  who  were  com- 
mencing preparations  for  an  inquiry  into  the  horrible  events 
which  had  taken  place.  After  I  had  become  more  calm,  one 
of  them  approached  me,  and  addressing  me  as  baron,  de- 
sired me  to  relate  what  I  knew  of  the  awful  murders  which 
had  been  perpetrated.  I  did  so,  concealing  nothing.  I 
told  all  from  the  moment  I  first  became  awaje  of  the  priest's 
influence  over  Bertha.  The  latter,  during  the  recital,  re- 
mained silent.  When  I  had  finished,  she  stooped  down  and 
took  a  paper  from  my  father's  hand,  which  till  now  no  one 
had  noticed.  She  handed  it  to  one  of  the  officers.  'Read 
it,'  she  said ;  'it  is  his  passport  to  heaven.'  He  took  it,  and 
having  glanced  over  it,  desired  silence,  and  read  aloud,  as 
follows : 

" '  Paulus  de  Hutten,  nineteen  years  have  passed  since 
you  injured  me.  Nineteen  long  and  weary  years,  during 
which  I  have  suffered  every  moment  more  anguish  than  you 
could  feel  in  a  century.  Do  you  remember  Frederica  Giesler  ? 
You  start,  and  well  you  may,  for  though  she  lived  in  your 
memory  but  for  a  few  short  days,  now  that  the  icy  hand  of 
death  has  grasped  your  heart,  you  do  not  find  it  difficult  to 
recollect  her  and  the  wrong  she  endured  at  your  hands. 

'"I  loved  her.  She  was  my  betrothed.  You  knew  this, 
and  yet  with  a  base  exercise  of  the  power  you  possessed, 


284  ROBERT    SEVER.VE. 

you  robbed  her  of  her  purity,  and  left  her  a  blighted  and  a 
wretched  being.  She  died  in  ray  arras  broken-hearted.  You 
smiled  when  you  heard  of  it,  while  ray  mind  became  so 
much  deranged,  that  for  months  my  reason  was  considered 
lost. 

'"I  recovered,  and  then  I  vowed  never  to  forgive  your 
wickedness.  I  had  ray  own  wrongs  to  redress  and  Frede- 
rica's  memory  to  avenge.  I  entered  the  church,  for  I  had 
no  other  earthly  object  in  view  than  the  vengeance  I  had 
sworn,  and  as  your  chaplain  I  would  possess  unbounded 
opportunity  for  its  accomplishment. 

" '  For  nineteen  years  the  sword  has  been  suspended  over 
your  head,  and  now  it  has  fallen. 

'"In  a  happy  moment  I  conceived  the  plan  which  has 
now  been  carried  out.  I  induced  you  to  consent  that  Bertha 
should  be  educated  by  me.  By  the  agency  of  means  she 
could  not  resist,  I  obtained  a  complete  ascendancy  over  her 
mind.  I  changed  her  whole  nature,  poisoned  her  heart 
against  all  her  family,  told  her  you  had  injured  me,-and  at 
length  brought  her  to  glory  in  the  idea  of  your  destruction. 
She  has  poisoned  you,  your  wife  and  sons.  Yes,  your  own 
daughter,  Baron  de  Hutten,  is  my  avenger!  And  she! 
Think  you  I  could  allow  her  to  escape  ?  Ere  twelve  hours 
have  elapsed,  she  will  be  a  raving  maniac.  All  this  I  have 
done.  You  have  now  had  an  exhibition  of  my  power.  Is 
it  equal  to  yours  ? 

"'Faulus  de  Hutten,  I  speak  to  you  for  the  last  time. 
You  are  dying,  no  human  power  can  save  yon.  Take  one 
more  look  at  your  wife  and  children,  and  in  the  hell  to  which 
you  are  going,  remember 

"'RUDOLPH  FOLTZ!' 

"  His  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Bertha  was  that  night  re- 
moved to  a  mad-house,  where  she  died,  after  the  lapse  of  a 
few  months,  unsconscious  to  the  last  that  she  had  been  de- 
ceived. For  her  there  was  the  forgetfulness  and  rest  which 
the  spirit  promised. 

"  I  became  Baron  de  Hutten.  The  estate  belonging  to 
the  title  was  held  in  trust  for  me  by  a  guardian  appointed 
by  the  Emperor,  and  soon  after  the  sad  occurrences  I  have 
related,  I  went  to  the  University  at  Vienna.  Now  comes 
the  second  great  episode  in  my  life. 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  2»5 

"  Time,  that  great  assuager  of  sorrow,  at  last  softened  ray 
grief,  arid  I  tried  to  draw  the  veil  of  forgetfulness  over  events 
by  which  I  had  been  deprived  of  my  natural  guides  and  pro- 
tectors. In  this  I  succeeded  to  a  very  great  extent.  Young 
in  years  and  ardent  in  disposition,  I  sought  the  companion- 
ship of  the  joyous  and  light-hearted,  and  with  them  plunged 
into  the  dissipations  which  so  frequently  attend  upon  a  stu- 
dent's life.  Being  plentifully  supplied  with  money,  I  had 
little  trouble  in  finding  amusements  or  in  getting  associates 
for  any  wild  excesses  into  which  I  launched.  I  neglected 
my  studies,  was  rarely  present  in  the  lecture-rooms,  and,  in 
fact,  almost  entirely  lost  sight  of  the  duty  I  owed  to  perfect 
my-understanding  and  make  myself  fit  for  the  responsible 
position  which  ere  long  would  devolve  upon  me. 

"But  one  thing  I  never  forgot.  In  the  midst  of  all  my 
dissipation,  I  remembered  the  language  which  had  been  ad- 
dressed to  Father  Rudolph  by  the  spirit  he  had  evoked. 
'  You  will  satisfy  your  vengeance ;  you  will  fulfill  their  des- 
tiny, and  one  of  their  blood  will  fulfill  yours;'  and  I  waited 
as  patiently  as  I  could  for  the  opportunity  which  was  to 
satisfy  my  desire  for  vengeance,  and  at  the  same  time  rid  the 
world  of  a  monster  too  vile  to  incnmber  it  with  £is  presence. 

"In  the  course  of  time  I  became  of  age,  and  returned  to 
my  home  as  its  master.  Here,  quitting  my  wild  associates, 
I  gave  myself  up  to  study,  and  rarely  saw  persons  of  any 
class  of  life  other  than  those  who  lived  on  the  estate.  There 
was  a  fine  library  in  the  castle,  and  the  many  searches  which 
I  instituted,  resulted  in  my  finding  numbers  of  old  and  valu- 
able books  concealed  in  the  closets  and  great  oaken  chests 
with  which  the  castle  abounded.  It  was  thus  that  I  became 
possessed  of  many  of  the  books  of  my  illustrious  ancestor, 
the  great  Ulrich  de  Hutten,  and  of  several  very  valuable 
manuscripts,  'written  with  his  own  hand,'  as  the  colophon 
invariably  said. 

"  It  was  two  days  before  I  first  saw  you,  Severne,  in  Frank- 
fort, that  I  was  sitting  in  my  library  deeply  engaged  upon 
a  literary  labor  I  had  undertaken.  It  was  a  history  of  heresy 
in  all  religions,  a  work  of  so  vast  a  character,  and  requiring 
so  much  study  and  research,  that  I  am  astounded  now  that 
I  should  ever  have  thought  of  it.  I  had  been  working  at  it 
all  night;  for  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  my  temperament,  that 

25* 


286  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

when  once  I  have  entered  upon  a  line  of  thought,  I  cannot 
stop  till  I  have  carried  it  through  to  the  end.  I  felt  an  un- 
wonted activity  of  mind,  my  ideas  flowed  rapidly,  and  I  was 
conscious  that  never  before  had  I  done  such  honor  to  my 
reasoning  faculties  as  in  the  remarks  I  had  made  during  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  on  Lucilio  Yanini,  who,  as  you  both 
well  know,  suffered  a  cruel  death  at  the  hands  of  those  who 
assume  to  themselves  the  office  of  the  defenders  of  the 
majesty  of  God,  and  whose  intolerant  spirit  is  still  abroad 
in  the  world.  I  did  not  feel  in  the  slightest  degree  ex- 
hausted with  my  labors,  although  I  had  not  slept  for  nearly 
forty-eight  hours,  nor  tasted  a  morsel  of  food  during  that 
time.  As  I  have  said,  my  mind  was  never  clearer  or  more 
active.  I  am  thus  particular,  because  I  know  you  will  form 
the  opinion  that  in  what  I  am  about  to  relate,  I  was  the 
victim  of  a  hallucination.  The  sequel  will  abundantly  show 
that  such  was  not  the  case. 

"  I  was  thus  deep  in  the  subject  I  have  mentioned,  and 
had  just  finished  a  sentence  laudatory  of  Vanini,  when  hap- 
pening to  raise  my  eyes  from  the  paper  before  me,  I  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man,  clothed  in  the  garb  of  a  student,  standing 
immediately  in  front  of  me,  and  regarding  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  intense  interest.  He  was  rather  above  than 
below  the  medium  height,  wore  a  long  pointed  beard,  had 
light  curly  hair,  a  fair  complexion,  and  large  eyes  of  a  dark- 
blue  color,  which  were  deeply  placed  in  his  head,  and  which 
had  a  most  benignant  though  melancholy  expression. 

"  I  would  have  risen  from  my  seat,  but  with  a  gesture  my 
visitor  desired  me  to  be  still,  and  then  in  a  low  tone  said : 

"'Ulrich  de  Hutten,  time  flows  rapidly  on,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  events  it  brings,  you  have  forgotten  the  one 
great  duty  you  owe  your  race.' 

"  I  started  up  with  surprise,  but  I  answered  him  calmly. 

"'I  have  not  forgotten  it.  I  am  waiting  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  performing  it.' 

"'You  are  the  only  one  of  your  blood  now  on  the  earth 
in  the  flesh,  and  I  am  here  to  give  you  the  opportunity  you 
say  you  long  for.  Will  you  take  it  ?  Will  you  give  up  till 
the  decrees  of  fate  are  accomplished,  the  labors  upon  which 
you  are  now  wearing  away  your  life  ?' 

"  'Who  are  you  ?'  I  asked. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  287 

" '  The  spirit  of  Ulrich  de  Hutten,  returned  to  earth  to 
guide  you  in  a  work  which  must  not  be  forgotten.' 

"  'And  you,  a  great  portion  of  whose  life  was  passed  in 
study,  ask  me  to  renounce  habits  and  inclinations  which  have 
become  almost  a  part  of  my  nature.' 

"  '  To  what  did  similar  habits  lead  me  ? — Oh,  Ulrich,  my 
son,  listen  to  the  warning  of  one  whose  experience  of  man- 
kind has  rarely  been  equaled  by  mortal  beings.  Why 
should  you  labor  for  them  ?  Why  spend  your  days  and 
nights  in  striving  to  improve  and  enlighten  them  ?  They 
will  return  you  nothing  but  contempt  and  insult.  Your  su- 
periors will  deride  you ;  your  equals  will  be  jealous  of  your 
abilities;  and  your  inferiors  will  disregard  what  you  may 
say.  Who  can  estimate  the  heart-burnings,  the  injuries,  the 
outrages,  the  misfortunes  I  might  have  been  spared,  if  in- 
stead of  giving  my  thoughts  and  actions  for  the  benefit  of 
my  fellow-men,  I  had  turned  both  to  my  own  profit  ?  Ulrich, 
have  you  forgotten  Rudolph  Foltz  ?  He  still  lives  !' 

" '  I  have  not.  God  knows  I  have  not,'  I  exclaimed,  all 
my  thirst  for  vengeance  returning.  '  Tell  me  where  he  is, 
and  then  you  will  see  whether  or  not  I  recollect  him.' 

"  '  Not  yet,  Ulrich,'  said  my  visitor,  smiling.  '  The  time 
has  not  yet  come.  You  will  never  see  him  till  the  hour  ar- 
rives that  gives  you  his  life,  but  you  will  be  near  him  con- 
tinually. Will  you  place  yourself  under  my  guidance  till  the 
work  is  done  ?' 

"  '  I  will,'  I  answered.     '  I  swear  it  before  God.' 

" '  Then  listen  to  me,  Ulrich.  I  accept  your  oath. 
Henceforth  I  will  lead  you.  It  will  be  years  before  the 
work  can  be  accomplished,  but  it  is  only  a  question  of  time. 
It  will  be  done,  and  though  you  will  do  it,  others  will  aid  in 
the  fulfillment  of  the  ordinances  of  fate.  And  now  the  game 
begins. 

"  'At  the  Hotel  de  Russie,  in  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  in 
room  No.  38,  is  a  gentleman  without  whose  aid  you  cannot 
succeed.'" 

Severne  and  Lawrence  would  have  spoken,  but  de  Hut- 
ten  motioned  them  to  be  silent.  He  continued  : 

"  '  He  is  an  Englishman,  and  a  lover  of  books.  Without 
him  you  can  do  nothing.' 

"  '  How  can  I  engage  his  aid  ?'  I  exclaimed.  '  I  do  not 
even  know  him.' 


288  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

"  '  By  attending  to  ray  directions.  The  day  before  I  died, 
at  Steckelberg,  I  placed  under  my  pillow  the  only  copy  in 
the  world  of  my  greatest  work,  De  Facultatum  Intellectua- 
lium.  That  copy  is  now  in  this  Castle  of  Adlerfels  in  a 
recess  in  the  wall  of  the  highest  room  of  the  north  tower. 
Exactly  twelve  feet  west  of  the  window  and  five  feet  above 
the  floor  fs  a  stone  which  can  easily  be  removed  Behind  it 
is  the  book.  It  was  placed  there  by  my  nephew  Maximilian 
de  Hutten,  who  found  it  after  my  death,  and  who  built,  this 
castle.  Take  this  book  to  Frankfort  to-day,  and  otter  it  to 
the  occupant  of  room  No.  38  for  two  hundred  pounds,  Eng- 
lish money.  It  will  attract  his  attention,  and  he  will  never 
forget  you.  Farewell  till  we  meet  again.'  AVith  these 
words  he  faded  slowly  from  my  sight. 

"  I  started  to  my  feet  with  all  the  energy  excited  by  new- 
born hopes  of  vengeance.  I  tore  into  fragments  the  sheets 
which  I  had  filled  with  my  thoughts,  and  I  swore  never  to 
lose  sight  of  this  great  object  of  my  life  till  it  was  attained. 
1  found  the  book,  as  I  had  been  told  I  would,  and  immedi- 
ately started  with  it  for  Frankfort,  where  I  arrived  the  next 
day.  It  was  very  much  against  my  inclination  to  offer  the 
book  to  you.  In  the  first  place,  1  wanted  it  myself,  and  in 
the  next,  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  being  a  hawker.  Still,  I 
had  sworn  obedience,  and  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  to  be  faithful  to  my  oath.  When  I  met  you  I  studied 
your  countenance  and  manner  closely,  and  I  was  pleased  with 
both.  I  was  also  inwardly  delighted  when  you  asked  time 
for  consideration  before  purchasing  the  book,  and  still  more 
-so  when  that  night  my  mentor  appeared  to  me  and  told  me 
not  to  sell  the  book,  that  the  object  had  been  accomplished, 
and  that  there  would  be  use  for  it  again.  At  the  same  time 
he  gave  me  the  letter  which  I  brought  you  the  next  day, 
and  in  disposing  of  which  as  I  did  I  followed  his  directions 
implicitly. 

"I  returned  to  Adlerfels,  and  soon  afterward  again  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  the  spirit  of  my  illustrious  ancestor. 
'Rudolph  Foltz,'  he  said,  'is  now  in  Vienna.  He  still  pos- 
sesses the  talisman  which  is  essential  to  our  success,  and 
which,  therefore,  you  must  obtain.  He  resides  on  the  fifth 
floor  of  JSTo.  659,  Dorotheergasse.  He  keeps  the  talisman  in 
a  tin  box,  which  is  hidden  under  the  floor.  As  you  enter 


ROBERT   SEVERN F.  289 

his  room  you  will  observe  a  spot  of  ink  on  one  of  the 
boards  of  the  floor  near  the  hearth.  Raise  this  and  you 
will  find  the  box.  On  the  seventh  of  the  present  month  he 
will  forget  to  lock  his  room  door,  and  will  go  to  the  theater 
at  eight  o'clock.  Then  will  be  your  opportunity.' 

"  It  was  then  the  third.  The  next  morning  I  took  my 
departure  for  Vienna.  I  well  knew  the  value  of  the  talis- 
man I  had  seen  Foltz  use,  for  I  had  studied  the  subject 
thoroughly  since  the  event  which  deprived  me  of  every  one 
of  my  kin.  I  knew  that  while  I  wore  it  he  could  not  harm 
me,  and  that  through  it  I  could  always  discover  his  where- 
abouts. 

"  I  found  everything  as  had  been  foretold,  and  returned  to 
Adlerfels.  I  would  have  remained  in  Vienna,  and  there 
have  ended  the  matter,  but  I  was  told  that  the  time  had  not 
yet  arrived. 

"  Time  rolled  on,  and  several  years  elapsed,  during  which 
I  received  many  visits  from  my  guide.  He  always  told  me 
that  Foltz  was  suffering  great  anguish  of  mind,  and  WAS 
roaming  over  the  world,  fearful  of  being  discovered  by  me. 
This  was  a  part  of  his  punishment  which  the  spirit  of  my  an- 
cestor seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  contemplating.  'I 
know  what  it  is,'  he  would  say;  'I  have  fled  from  my  per- 
secutors, suffering  in  a  just  cause.  Foltz  flies,  imagining 
that  he  is  pursued,  and  writhing  under  the  reproaches  of  a 
guilty  conscience.  Now  he  is  in  Tartary ;  now  in  India; 
now  in  Algiers ;  now  in  England.  The  hour  approaches, 
Ulrich.  Action  will  soon  be  required.' 

"  On  the  tenth  of  last  June  the  spirit  appeared  again. 
'  Take  the  talisman,'  he  said,  '  and  use  it  as  you  saw  Foltz 
use  it.'*  My  office  is  ended;  for  the  future  you  will  have  a 
higher  guide  than  I  am.  Farewell  for  the  present.  We 
will  meet  once  more,  and  then  I  shall  go  to  rest.' 

"  I  did  as  I  was  directed,  and  evoked  the  old  man  who 
had  appeared  at  Foltz's  bidding.  4 

'"Your  enemy  is  in  America,'  he  said.  '  Take  with  you 
the  great  book  your  ancestor  wrote  and  go  to  New  York. 
You  will  there  be  told  what  to  do.' 

"I  at  once  made  arrangements  for  a  long  absence;  and 
leaving  Europe  as  soon  as  possible,  arrived  in  New  York 
early  in  July.  Here  I  had  another  interview  with  the  spirit 


290  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

of  the  talisman,  and  was  told  to  take  the  book  to  Mr. 
Holmes's  book-shop  and  leave  it  there  for  the  former  occu- 
pant of  room  No.  38,  Hotel  de  Russie,  Frankfort,  who  would 
find  it,  and  buy  it  at  the  price  previously  asked.  I  did  so, 
and  everything  resulted  as  I  had  been  told  it  would.  I  was 
then  informed  that  you,  Severne,  were  going  to  cross  the 
prairies,  and  I  was  told  to  join  your  party.  I  was  ordered 
to  go  to  St.  Louis  and  Fort  Leavenworth,  and  await  you 
at  the  latter  place.  Here  I  had  a  long  conference  with  the 
spirit,  and  was  then  informed  that  Rudolph  Foltz  had  joined 
a  band  of  Indians,  and  that  I  would  meet  him  on  the  prairies. 
Another  interview  resulted  in  my  being  told  that  he  was 
with  the  Cbeyennes,  that  he  called  himself  Long  Knife,  and 
that  we  would  meet  west  of  the  Black  Hills.  You  know 
the  rest.  How  he  tried  to  kill  me,  and  that  I,  protected  by 
the  talisman,  slew  him  like  a  dog.  That  is  all.  His  destiny 
is  fulfilled,  and  as  to  mine — who  knows  what  it  will  be  ?" 

"My  dear  de  Hutten,"  said  Severne,  "yours  is  a  most 
remarkable  story,  and  I  sympathize  with  you  in  all  the  sor- 
rows you  have  passed  through,  and  admire  the  fortitude  and 
courage  you  have  shown.  I  do  not  know  what  to  think  of 
the  supernatural  agencies  you  have  dwelt  upon.  Certain  it 
is  that  whether  they  were  real  or  not,  their  predictions  have 
met  with  a  wonderful  amount  of  fulfillment." 

"It  is* all  very  astonishing,"  said  Lawrence.  "I  thought 
at  first  you  were  the  victim  of  a  hallucination,  but  I  cannot 
think  so  now,  and  have  no  explanation  to  suggest.  At  any 
rate,  de  Hutten,  you  have  triumphed,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
Yon  will  now  be  able  to  resume  your  history  of  heresy." 

"Yes,  I  shall  go  back  to  Adlerfels  and  go  to  worjj  again. 
I  shall  never,  however,  forget  your  friendship  and  the  many 
favors  you  have  both  done  me.  And  though  Severne  has 
been  an  unconscious  aider  and  abettor  in  my  designs,  I  am 
not  the  less  obliged  to  him.  As  to  this  talisman,  I  have 
been  directed  to  throw  it  into  a  deep  pond  situated  near 
Bridger's  Pass,  not  far  from  a  high  table-land,  and  not  to 
use  it  again.  Of  course  I  shall  obey,  as  I  have  in  all  other 
things." 

Six  days  subsequently  they  approached  the  break  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  called  Bridger's  Pass.  A  high  table-land 
on  the  left  of  the  road  attracted  attention,  and  thither  de 


ROBERT    SEVERXE.  291 

Hutten  went  in  search  of  the  pond.  He  climbed  the  steep 
ridges,  covered  with  pine-trees,  and  at  last  reached  an  emi- 
nence from  which  he  could  look  down  into  deep 'gorges  and 
ravines  into  which  the  foot  of  man  had  probably  never  en- 
tered. Far  down  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  these  he  descried 
a  pond,  fed  by  the  rills  of  snow-water  which  trickled  along 
the  steep,  rocky  sides  of  quartz  and  granite.  De  Hutten 
descended  as  far  as  he  could  with  safety.  He  stood  upon  a 
ledge  of  rock  which  overhung  the  pond  and  looked  down 
into  its  depths.  It  was  as  clear  as  crystal,  and,  judging  by 
the  declivity  of  the  sides,  perhaps  fifty  feet  deep.  Taking 
the  talisman  from  his  breast,  he  unfastened  it  from  the  chain 
and  looked  at  it  fixedly  for  a  few  moments;  then,  pressing 
it  to  his  lips,  he  let  it  drop  from  his  hand,  and  in  an  instant 
it  had  disappeared  from  his  sight  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN   WHICH    MR.   FREELING    DISCOVERS    THAT    HE    CANNOT    HAVE    EVERY- 
THING   HIS    OWN    WAY. 

AFTER  a  month  spent  at  Lake  George,  during  which  John 
Holmes,  Margaret,  and  Grace  Langley — who  was  also  of 
the  party — became  much  more  warmly  attached  to  Sarah 
than  before,  preparations  were  begun  for  a  return  to  New 
York.  Sarah  was  of  course  delighted  with  the  idea  of  going 
to  Europe,  and  she  and  Margaret  promised  themselves  the 
most  intense  gratification  in  the  new  life  which  would  then 
be  open  to  them.  The  young  ladies  had  gone  out  boating 
on  the  lake  with  a  very  pleasant  party,  and  John  Holmes 
sat  alone  in  a  corner  of  the  hotel  piazza  which  faced  the 
water,  looking  out  on  the  lovely  prospect  before  him,  and 
thinking  that  the  time  had  come  for  telling  Sarah  of  her  re- 
lationship to  Margaret  and  himself.  He  had  just  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  he  would  do  so  that  evening,  when  he 
heard  his  name  called,  and  turning  his  head  he  saw  Mr. 


292  ROBERT    SEVER.VE. 

Freeling  standing  near  him.  John  Holmes  knew  nothing 
of  him  except  that  he  was  Severne's  agent,  but  having  seen 
him  once  or  twice  before,  he  had  conceived  a  great  dislike 
to  him,  a  thing  that  John  Holmes  often  did  toward  disagree- 
able people  at  a  very  early  stage  of  his  intercourse  with 
them. 

Mr.  Freeling  was  not  naturally  a  polite  man.  He  fre- 
quently, however,  felt  it  advisable  to  affect  politeness,  as  he 
did  other  virtues,  so  he  touched  his  hat  to  John  Holmes 
and  expressed  his  great  pleasure  at  meeting  him  again,  away 
from  the  heat,  the  dust,  and  the  foul  air  of  a  large  city. 

John  Holmes  made  an  indifferent  reply,  but  did  not  ex- 
press any  delight  at  seeing  Mr.  Freeling. 

"I  have  come  here,"  said  the  latter,  "not  only  for  pur- 
poses of  relaxation,  but  also  to  see  you  on  some  important 
business  which  concerns  you.  Will  you  therefore  please  to 
allow  me  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  you  ?" 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  it  can  be,  but  of  course  I  am  at 
your  service,  Mr.  Freeling.  Shall  we  walk  along  the  lake 
and  discuss  it  ?" 

"A  very  admirable  suggestion  that  of  yours,  Mr.  Holmes. 
I  can  always  talk  better  when  I  am  walking  than  under 
other  circumstances. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Severne's  agent,  as  you  may  know,"  said  Mr. 
Freeling,  as  they  reached  the  road  that  ran  along  the  shore; 
"but  circumstances  which  have  come  to  my  knowledge  make 
it  necessary  that  I  should  resign  my  situation.  I  shall  ac- 
cordingly do  so  to-morrow.  These  circumstances  are  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  prevent  any  one  having  a  regard  for  his 
own  character  continuing  a  connection  with  Mr.  Severne. 
It  is  out  of  consideration  for  you  and  your  granddaughter 
that  I  have  deemed  it  my  duty  to  put  you  on  your  guard 
against  forming  one." 

"  I  do  not  know  to  what  you  can  allude,  Mr.  Freeling. 
Of  course  you  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  as  you  please;  but 
there  is  nothing  you  can  say  to  me  that  would  induce  me 
to  change  the  opinion  I  have  formed  of  Robert  Severne." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Holmes.  It  is  just  what  I 
expected  you  to  say ;  exactly  what  I  would  have  said  my- 
self if  any  one  had  come  to  me  about  a  friend  as  I  have  to 
you.  We  cannot  be  too  cautious  how  we  credit  tales  to  the 


EGBERT   SE VERNE.  293 

disadvantage  of  onr  friends ;  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
positive  proof,  evidence  which  admits  of  no  doubt,  and  this 
is  the  kind  I  have  to  offer  you." 

"  I  shall  not  attempt,  Mr.  Freeling,"  said  John  Holmes, 
with  a  contemptuous  smile,  "to  fathom  your  objects  in  this 
matter.  I  take  it  for  granted,  however,  that  you  are  not 
altogether  disinterested.  As  to  evidence  in  any  case  against 
Robert  Severne,  it  would  have  to  be  of  the  very  strongest 
character  to  convince  me.  I  do  not  think  anything  less  than 
his  own  confession  of  wrong  conduct  would  satisfy  me  of  his 
guilt." 

"  Right  again,  Mr.  Holmes,"  said  Mr.  Freeling,  with  ani- 
mation. "A  person  whose  character  has — in  this  country 
at  least — been  as  high  as  Mr.  Robert  Severne's,  should  not 
be  liable  to  the  loss  of  his  good  name  except  upon  over- 
whelming evidence.  There  are  cases  indeed  in  which  our 
faith  may  properly  be  so  strong  as  not  to  be  shaken  by  any- 
thing short  of  ocular  demonstration  or  a  confession.  It  is 
this  latter  which,  among  other  proofs  of  Mr.  Severne's  crim- 
inality, I  have  to  submit  to  you." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Freeling.  Here  comes  my  granddaughter, 
to  whom  you  may  also  unfold  your  budget,  as  you  have 
ascertained,  in  some  way  or  other  best  known  to  yourself, 
that  Mr.  Severne's  reputation  is  not  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  her.  Whatever  you  have  to  tell  me  is'therefore  of  tenfold 
importance  to  her." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  sir ;  there  is  not  the  least  objection 
to  Miss  Leslie  being  also  informed  in  regard  to  Mr.  Severne's 
real  character.  On  the  contrary,  as  it  is  with  the  view  of 
saving  her  that  I  am  induced  to  make  the  communication,  it 
is  desirable  that  the  purport  of  it  should  reach  her  through 
first  hands." 

Margaret,  Sarah,  and  Grace  were  coming  up  the  shore 
in  company  with  several  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  John 
Holmes,  leaving  Mr.  Freeling,  went  forward  to  meet  them, 
and  returned  accompanied  by  Margaret  alone. 

"  Take  my  arm,  my  dear  child,"  he  said.  "  This  gentle- 
man, who  is  Mr.  Severne's  agent,  has  some  information  to 
communicate  which  I  am  anxious  you  should  hear." 

"I  am  Mr.  Severue's  agent,"  said  Mr.  Freeliug,  with  a 
2.6 


294  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

strong  accent  on  the  verb,  "but  will  not  be  to-morrow.  I 
have  become  acquainted  with  facts  which  render  such  a  re- 
lation between  us  impossible,  and — if  I  may  be  allowed  to 
say  so — when  a  rough  man  of  the  world  like  me  finds  it  im- 
proper to  act  as  agent  for  Mr.  Severne,  there  need  be  no 
difficulty  in  so  upright  and  refined  a  lady  as  Miss  Leslie 
severing  any  connection  she  may  have  formed  with  him." 

"Grandpapa,"  said  Margaret,  her  face  flushing  with 
honest  anger,  "  I  cannot  believe  you  would  ask  me  here  to 
listen  to  such  insults.  You  surely  did  not  know  what  this 
man  was  going  to  say?" 

"  Hush  !  my  dear  child,"  said  John  Holmes,  taking  her 
hand,  which  trembled  with  indignation,  and  which  she  was 
in  the  act  of  withdrawing  from  his  arm.  "You  know  that 
Robert  Severne's  good  name  cannot  suffer  in  my  estimation 
by  anything  his  enemies  may  say.  I  brought  you  here,  my 
darling,  to  hear  and  to  answer,  and  thus  to  end  a  matter  at 
once  which  otherwise  might  linger  on  for  a  long  time.  Now, 
Mr.  Freeling,  will  you  proceed  with  your  communication  ?" 

''As  rapidly  as  possible.  Several  years  ago  Mr.  Severne's 
wife  died  under  circumstances  which  caused  him  to  be  sus- 
pected of  taking  her  life  He  was  not  arrested,  for  there 
was  no  proof  sufficiently  strong  to  fasten  the  guilt  upon  him. 
That  proof  is  now  in  my  possession,  and  it  is  my  painful 
duty  to  inform  you,  Mr.  Holmes,  and  you,  Miss  Leslie,  that 
Mr.  Robert  Severne  is  a  murderer  !" 

Mr.  Freeling  communicated  the  words  of  his  charge  in 
the  most  emphatic  manner,  and  with  all  due  solemnity  of 
tone.  John  Holmes  was  prepared  for  a  grave  accusation, 
not,  however,  to  the  extent  of  murder,  but  he  controlled  his 
emotion  almost  perfectly.  Margaret's  hand  started  slightly 
in  his  as  she  heard  the  words,  but  she  had  thought  in  an  in- 
stant of  her  first  and  last  interviews  with  Severne,  and  her 
boundless  faith  and  love  coming  to  her  rescue,  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  willingly  betrayed  the  least  ex- 
citement or  anxiety  to  the  man  who  was  watching  her  every 
look  and  motion  in  the  hope  of  detecting  some  evidence  of 
agony  too  great  to  be  concealed.  What  she  felt  was  anger, 
hot,  passionate  anger,  the  anger  that  would  have  prompted 
her  to  strike  the  base  accuser  of  Robert  Severne  dead  at  her 
feet  had  she  been  endowed  with  the  physical  strength  to  carry 


ROBERT    8EVERNE.  295 

ont  her  will.  She  said  nothing,  but  the  flashing  of  her  eyes, 
the  crimson  hue  which  overspread  her  face,  the  quivering  of 
her  lips,  and  the  quick,  heavy  throbbing  of  her  heart  showed 
what  she  felt.  They  were  not  exactly  the  feelings  which 
Mr.  Freeling  had  hoped  to  arouse. 

"  I  perceive,"  said  Mr.  Freeling,  after  a  slight  pause, 
during  which  he  had  waited  in  vain  for  some  remark  from 
John  Holmes  or  Margaret,  "  that  like  most  bearers  of  un- 
welcome intelligence,  I  am  in  danger  of  gaining  a  vast 
amount  of  ill  will.  I  shall  therefore  hurry  through  the  matter 
as  rapidly  as  possible.  It  is  not  at  all  difficult  for  me  to 
see  that  you  attach  very  little  importance  to  what  I  have 
said,  except  to  accuse  me  in  your  hearts  of  having  perpe- 
trated a  vile  and  malignant  slander.  You  are  both  ac- 
quainted, I  presume,  with  Mr.  Severne's  handwriting  ?" 

Margaret  made  no  reply  ;  John  Holmes  answered  in  the 
affirmative.  «»  *  -• 

"  I  presume,  then,  if  I  show  you  Mr.  Robert  Severne's 
confession,  written  and  signed  with  his  own  hand,  yon  will 
credit  my  assertion  that  he  is  a  murderer?" 

"  Never  I"  said  Margaret,  calmly,  but  with  all  the  firm- 
ness of  which  she  was  mistress.  "Not  even  if  I  saw  him 
write  it.  I  would  doubt  his  intellect  rather  than  I  would 
his  honor." 

"  That's  all  very  pretty,  Miss  Leslie,  and  quite  romantic. 
Now " 

"Stop,  sir!"  said  John  Holmes,  interrupting  him.  "I 
did  not  bring  my  granddaughter  here  for  you  to  talk  to  her. 
Please,  therefore,  address  your  conversation  to  me." 

"Well,  Mr.  Holmes,"  rejoined  Freeling,  "I  don't  think  I 
have  anything  more  to  say.  The  rest  will  be  best  said  by 
Mr.  Severne  himself.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  read  that 
letter?"  So  saying,  he  handed  to  John  Holmes  the  letter  he 
had  abstracted  from  Severne's  port-folio. 

John  Holmes,  with  a  steady  voice,  read  aloud  as  follows: 

June  28th. 
MY  DEAR  LAWRENCE: 

It  is  said  that  an  honest  confession  is  good  for  the  soul. 
I  hope  my  soul  will  be  benefited  when  I  acknowledge  to 
you  that  I  admit  myself  to  be  guilty  of  my  wife's  death.  I 


296  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

am  her  murderer.     I  no  longer  wish  to  make  a  secret  of  it. 
I  am  now  suffering  the  torments  of  the  damned. 

Yours,  in  utter  despair, 

ROBERT  SEVERNE. 

Margaret  listened  to  every  word  of  this  note.  How  to 
explain  it  she  did  not  know,  but  it  had  no  more  effect  in 
making  her  believe  Robert  Severne  to  be  a  murderer  than 
if  it  had  been  but  the  empty  wind. 

John  Holmes  gave  the  paper  back  to  Mr.  Freeling. 

"It  is  in  Mr.  Severne's  handwriting  throughout," he  said. 
"You  have  been  as  good  as  your  word.  But  I  nevertheless 
do  not  believe  your  accusation  to  be  true." 

"And  you,  Miss  Leslie?"  said  Freeling. 

"  You  have  had  my  answer.  I  have  nothing  further  to 
say." 

"  Yery  well,  you  will  probably  ere  long  read  of  Mr.  Robert 
Severne's  execution  at  Newgate  for  murder,"  said  Freeling, 
with  a  disappointed  air.  "  I  have  tried  to  warn  you.  Now 
I  shall  take  this  to  England,  and  as  soon  as  our  friend 
reaches  civilized  society  he  will  be  arrested." 

Mr.  Freeling  retraced  his  steps,  and  walking  rapidly,  was 
soon  out  of  sight. 

John  Holmes  and  Margaret  walked  on  in  silence  for  sev- 
eral minutes.  At  last  he  said  : 

"  I  was  thinking,  my  dear  child,  how  brave  and  faithful 
you  are.  There  are  few  persons  who  would  not  have  yielded 
in  the  face  of  evidence  like  that.  It  almost  staggers  me,  I 
must  confess,  and  I  cannot  attempt  to  understand  it.  The 
writing  is  certainly  Severne's." 

"  It  makes  no  difference  whether  he  wrote  it  or  not,"  said 
Margaret.  "  It  bears  internal  evidence  of  error,  for  if  Mr. 
Severne  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  fit  of  remorse,  he 
would  never  have  written  a  letter  like  that.  Bnt  I  do  not 
intend  to  descend  to  the  point  of  reasoning  on  the  subject. 
I  know,  as  well  as  I  know  of  my  own  existence,  that  Robert 
Severne  is  not  a  murderer,  and  but  for  the  annoyance  which 
I  see  that  wicked  man  will  give  him,  I  should  care  nothing 
for  all  this." 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  her  grandfather,  kindly,  "we 
ought  to  reason  upon  the  matter,  for  I  think  that  by  so 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  29  T 

doing  we  will  be  able  to  arrive  at  a  satisfactory  solution.  I 
shall  go  immediately  and  see  Wilson,  who  is  still  at  Sev- 
erne's  house,  and  make  some  inquiries.  In  the  mean  time, 
my  darling,  we  will  both  retain  undiminished  confidence, — I 
in  my  friend,  and  you  in  one  who  is  more  than  a  friend." 

"I  have  heard  Grace  Langley  speak  of  this  man,"  said 
Margaret.  "  She  has  told  me  how  he  treated  her  mother, 
and  how  Mr.  Severne  thwarted  him  in  his  villainy.  I  am 
sure  he  has  devised  this  as  a  scheme  of  revenge." 

"  It  is  very  evident  that  he  is  actuated  by  vindictive  mo- 
tives. But  that  will  not  prevent  the  evidence  he  has  in  his 
possession  from  having  great  weight.  We  must  endeavor 
to  counteract  him,  not  for  our  own  satisfaction,  but  for  Sev- 
erne's  safety.  The  letter  is  addressed  to  Dr.  Lawrence.  If 
it  was  sent,  he  understands  the  whole  matter ;  if  it  was  not, 
Freeling  must  have  taken  it  from  Severne's  house,  and  iu 
that  case  Wilson  may  know  something  about  it." 

"Do  you  think,  dear  grandpapa,  that  harm»can  come  to 
Mr.  Severne  from  anything  that  man  can  do?"  said  Marga- 
ret, anxiously.  l'  Ought  we  not  at  once  to  put  him  on  his 
guard  ?" 

"  I  will  not  conceal  from  you,  my  dear  child,  that  that 
letter,  unexplained,  and  supported  by  suspicious  circum- 
stances, would  lead  to  very  serious  results.  I  am  very  sure 
Severne  has  had  trouble  of  some  kind  in  England, — what  I 
do  not  know ;  but  as  Dr.  Lawrence  knew  him  then,  he  is 
probably  acquainted  with  its  character.  It  is  almost  im- 
possible for  us  to  communicate  with  him  before  this  man 
sets  his  schemes  in  operation.  The  last  letter  you  had  from 
him  was  dated  San  Francisco,  just  before  he  sailed  for 
Calcutta.  He  said  in  that  to  write  to  him  in  future  at  the 
latter  place.  This  man  will  take  such  steps  as  he  contem- 
plates at  once,  and  they  will  doubtless  be  of  such  a  character 
as  to  interfere  with  any  we  might  propose.  However,  Sev- 
erne will  not  try  to  avoid  an  investigation,  I  know." 

"I  will  go  myself,"  said  Margaret,  "as  soon  as  we  return 
to  New  York,  and  see  what  this  man  has  been  doing  in  Mr. 
Severne's  house.  Dear  grandpapa,  we  must  defeat  the 
scheme  of  this  wicked  man." 

"Be  of  good  heart,  my  dear  Margaret,  we  will  defeat  him. 
His  discomfiture  has  already  begun,  for  he  had  high  hopes 

26* 


298  ROBERT   SE VERNE. 

of  being  able  to  poison  our  rain'ds  against  Severne,  and  he 
is  conscious  of  failure.  Depend  upon  it,  too,  that  he  has 
given  us  all  the  proof  he  has  in  his  possession.  He  imagines 
there  is  more,  but  he  does  not  know  it.  There  may  be  evi- 
dence in  Severne's  favor  which  all  the  confessions  in  the 
world  could  not  overturn.  Such  a  paper  as  this  man  has,  un- 
less corroborated,  would  be  utterly  worthless.  As  you  say, 
the  letter  is  not  one  that  a  man  like  Severne,  in  full  posses- 
sion of  his  senses,  would  have  written.  It  is  such  a  docu- 
ment as  I  should  suspect  a  person  laboring  under  great  ex- 
citement would  have  indited.  Do  not  brood  over  this  sorrow, 
my  darling,  but  with  a  firm,  true,  and  faithful  heart,  look 
forward  with  confidence  to  its  being  cleared  up  to  his  honor." 

"Oh,  my  dearest !"  said  Margaret,  as  she  sat  that  night 
at  her  bed-room  window,  looking  out  upon  the  calm,  but 
tremulous  lake,  which  gleamed  in  the  moonlight  like  molten 
silver.  "  Oh,  my  dearest,  you  surely  thought  of  this  when 
you  told  me  to  believe  in  your  truth  and  honor  through  all 
the  evil  reports  which  might  come  !  I  do  believe.  God, 
who  sees  my  heart,  knows  that  with  unbroken  confidence 
and  undiminished  love  it  is  yours  as  truly  and  as  firmly  as 
when  I  gave  it  to  you.  My  darling  !  my  darling  I"  she 
continued,  passionately,  "  you  knew  when  I  pledged  my 
faith  to  you  that  I  spoke  the  truth,  and  you  will  see  how  I 
will  keep  my  word  !" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if  to  implore  God's  pro- 
tection for  him  she  loved,  and  then  she  laid  her  head  upon 
her  pillow  and  closed  her  eyes,  with  her  heart  untouched  by 
a  doubt  or  a  fear,  or  her  soul  tarnished  by  the  shadow  of  a 
suspicion. 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  299 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IN    WHICH    MABGARET  AND    SARAH    DISCOVER    THE    REASON  WHY    THEY 
HAD    FALLEN    IN    LOVE    WITH    EACH    OTHER    AT    FIRST    SIGHT. 

JOHN  HOLMES  was  not  iu  the  humor  that  evening  for  re- 
vealing to  Margaret  and  Sarah  the  relationship  which  ex- 
isted between  them.  But  the  next  morning,  while  the  two 
girls  sat  on  a  rustic  bench  in  the  woods,  whence — though  in 
a  great  measure  secluded  from  the  observation  of  idle  loungers 
— they  could  see  the  bright,  broad  expanse  of  the  lovely 
lake,  with  its  green  banks,  and  its  mountains  in  the  back- 
ground, he  joined  them  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  out  an 
intention  which  he  felt  had  already  been  too  long  deferred. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  two  young  ladies  this  half 
hour,"  he  said,  smiling,  as  he  took  the  place  they  made  for 
him  between  them.  "  What  could  have  induced  you  to  hide 
yourselves  in  this  out-of-the-way  corner?" 

"Grace  is  busy  packing," said  Margaret,  "and  Sarah  and 
I  stole  off  here  for  a  little  quiet  reading  and  talking.  She 
is  so  much  interested  in  her  book,  however,  that  I  cannot 
get  a  word  out  of  her  that  does  not  relate  to  it.  I  think 
she's  in  love  with  Captain  Cuttle, "continued  Margaret,  with 
an  affectation  of  malice,  and  in  a  whisper  intended  for  Sarah 
to  hear.  "With  Captain  Cuttle  or  Uncle  Sol,  I  am  not 
quite  sure  which.." 

Sarah  laid  aside  her  book  when  John  Holmes  addressed 
them.  Three  months  had  made  a  great  difference  in  her, 
and  no  one  would  have  suspected  from  her  appearance  and 
manners  that  she  had  not  always  been  used  to  refined  so- 
ciety. Her  figure  was  tall  and  graceful,  and  had  lost  the 
angularities  which  are  so  characteristic  of  an  irregular  life. 
She  was  dressed  in  white  Swiss  muslin,  her  dark-brown  hair 
was  looped  up  in  curls,  and  on  her  head  was  one  of  the 
prettiest  little  hats  that  ever  bedecked  a  young  lady's  che- 
velure.  The  expression  of  her  features  had  become  more 
sedate  and  thoughtful.  It  was  not  melancholy  or  even 
grave,  and  so  far  from  detracting  from  her  beauty,  harmo- 


.     300  ROBERT    8E VERNE. 

nized  admirably  with  her  dark-brown  eyes  and  clear,  rich 
brunette  complexion.  Nothing  could  have  shown  better  the 
impressibility  of  her  character  than  the  fact  that  in  so  short 
a  time  she  had  apparently  lost  all  the  traits  which  her  former 
associations  had  engrafted  upon  her.  If  Severne  could  have 
seen  her  then,  even  he  would  have  been  astonished  at  the 
progress  his  ward  had  made. 

The  matter  which  John  Holmes  had  iu  hand  was  a  deli- 
cate one.  It  was  not  his  intention  to  spend  much  time  over 
it,  however.  Already  the  relations  between  the  two  girls 
were  of  the  most  affectionate  character,  and  what  he  had  to 
.say  need  not  therefore  be  prolonged  by  words  calculated  to 
develop  a  feeling  which  would  take  good  care  of  itself. 
During  the  time  they  had  been  at  Lake  George,  he  had  seen 
a  good  deal  of  Sarah,  and  had  busied  himself  in  studying 
her  disposition  and  character.  He  had  noticed  her  great 
desire  to  learn  everything  which  could  be  of  advantage  to 
her;  with  what  rapidity  she  had  acquired  those  little  graces 
of  person  and  mind  which  give  so  great  a  charm  to  a  woman, 
and  how,  in  all  her  intercourse  with  him  and  with  others, 
her  demeanor  was  always  that  of  a  well-bred  lady.  He  had 
ascertained  too  from  Margaret  and  Grace  Langley  many 
little  circumstances  relative  to  her  behavior  in  private,  which 
otherwise  would  not  have  come  to  his  knowledge,  but  which 
convinced  him  that  she  was  in  no  danger  of  losing  the 
ground  she  had  gained,  and  had  caused  him  to  entertain  for 
her  a  regard  second  only  to  that  which  he  had  for  Marga- 
ret. 

"  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  Margaret's  remark, 
"  that  there  are  few  characters  in  real  life  more  worthy  of 
love  than  Captain  Cuttle  and  Uncle  Sol.  I  am  glad,  Sarah, 
that  such  old  fellows  are  favorites  of  yours,  for  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  to  look  in  future  with  favor  upon  another  one, 
who,  if  not  so  good,  is  older  than  either  of  them, — and  that 
is  myself." 

"Why,  grand  papa,  "said  Margaret,  laughing,  "you  are  so 
serious  about  it  that  Sarah  will  think  you  are  proposing  to 
her.  Don't  take  him,  Sarah.  To  think  of  a  man  pleading 
his  great  age  when  he  makes  a  declaration  of  love  !"  • 

Sarah  was  about  to  speak,  but  John  Holmes  interrupting 
her,  continued : 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  301 

"Among  the  last  things  that  Mr.  Severne  did  before  his 
departure  was  to  make  a  discovery  which  gave  both  him  and 
myself  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  A  number  of  letters  written 
by  your  father,  my  dear  Margaret,  came  into  his  possession. 
They  were  addressed  to  Sarah's  mother,  and  established  the 
fact  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt,  when  taken  in  connec- 
tion with  other  circumstances,  that  you  are  half-sisters. 
Richard  Leslie  was  the  father  of  you  both." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  surprise  which  this 
announcement  created  in  the  two  girls.  There  was  no  bois- 
terous affectation  of  pleasure.  Both  understood  that  such  a 
relationship  was  not  unaccompanied  by  shame,  bat  both 
were  glad  for  their  own  sakes  that  a  nearer  tie  than  any 
they  had  dreamed  of  united  them.  Margaret  was  the  first 
to  recover  her  equanimity.  She  put  her  arms  round  Sarah's 
neck,  and,  kissing  her,  said:  "I  am  very  glad.  Now  I 
know  why  I  have  always  loved  yon  so  dearly."  Sarah 
could  only  return  her  embrace  in  silence,  for  the  feelings 
excited  in  her  breast  were  so  strong  as  to  overpower  her 
in  her  attempts  to  give  utterance  to  the  great  joy  which 
filled  her  heart.  John  Holmes  thought  it  best  to  leave 
them  alone  for  a  few  moments,  and  so,  while  they  were 
locked  in  each  other's  arras,  he  quietly  slipped  off,  and  did 
not  return  till  he  judged  the  first  ebullition  of  emotion  had 
subsided.  When  he  rejoined  them,  he  found  them  with  their 
hands  clasped  together  and  their  faces  full  of  that  sad,  sober 
satisfaction  which  the  intelligence  they  had  received  could 
not  but  awaken  in  them.  Neither  asked  for  any  further  ex- 
planation. Both  were  content  to  know  that  they  were  sis- 
ters, without  wishing  to  be  informed  in  regard  to  details 
which  they  instinctively  felt  could  but  detract  from  their 

joy- 
John  Holmes  sat  down  beside  Sarah,  and  taking  her 
hand,  bent  over  and  kissed  her  forehead.  He  told  her  that 
not  only  was  Margaret  her  sister,  but  that  he  had  claims  to 
being  regarded  as  her  grandfather  which  she  must  not  over- 
look. "You  are  a  dear,  sweet  girl,"  he  said  ;  "I  shall  al- 
ways love  you,  and  though  I  was  not  able  to  induce  your 
guardian  to  give  you  up  to  me,  I  succeeded  in  getting  him 
to  acknowledge  ray  authority  to  some  extent.  We  therefore 
made  several  arrangements  which  will  interest  you,  and 


302  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

among  them  one  which  will  cause  you  to  meet  with  him 
sooner  than  you  expected  when  he  left  us." 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  she  replied.  "  I  loved  Margaret  from 
the  first  moment  I  saw  her.  It  is  to  her  that  I  owe  all  I 
am,  and  everything  I  can  ever  hope  to  be.  There  was  a 
feeling  excited  in  me  by  the  first  meeting  with  her  which  it 
was  impossible  for  me  to  resist,  and  which  strengthened  with 
every  moment  of  my  life.  I  can  understand  it  now.  It 
must  have  been  because  she  was  my  sister.  And  now  she 
has  just  told  me  that  my  guardian  will  some  day  be  her 
husband,  and  that  we  will  all  live  together,  never  to  part." 

"And  what  am  I  to  do,"  said  John  Holmes,  smiling,  "if 
both  my  grandchildren  leave  me  ?" 

"You  will  come  with  us,  dear  grandpapa,"  replied  Sarah. 

"  I  certainly  shall,  if  you'll  let  me.  I  am  getting  old 
enough  now  to  require  the  services  of  all  my  grandchildren 
in  taking  care  of  me." 

"  You  said  I  would  meet  my  guardian  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected. Is  he  coming  home  ?  I  wrote  to  him  last  night, 
and  told  him  how  happy  I  was ;  but.  I  must  write  again  to- 
day and  tell  him  what  I  now  know." 

"  We  will  go  to  him.  It  was  settled  between  us  that  you 
were  to  accompany  Margaret  and  me  to  Europe,  where  we 
will  meet  him." 

"I  am  very  glad  of  that  too.  I  do  not  wish  ever  to  be 
separated  from  you." 

Grace  Langley  was  now  seen  approaching  them.  As  she 
came  nearer  they  saw  that  she  was  laboring  under  some  ex- 
citement, for  she  walked  very  fast,  and  her  countenance 
showed  anything  but  a  quiet  frame  of  mind. 

"I  have  just  parted  from  Mr.  Freeling,"  she  said.  "I 
would  have  been  here  an  hour  ago,  but  he  joined  me  on  my 
way,  and  I  could  not  get  rid  of  him,  as  he  threatened  to  ac- 
company me,  and  I  knew  you  would  not  want  to  meet  such 
a  man.  If  I  had  known  Mr.  Holmes  was  with  you,  I  should 
not  have  hesitated.  He  has  been  trying  to  frighten  me  by 
telling  me  a  very  ridiculous  story  about  Mr.  Severne,  which 
I  do  not  for  a  moment  believe,  and  then  he  told  me  what  I 
really  hope  is  true  Ah,  I  see  it  is  true  !"  she  continued, 
kissing  Margaret  and  Sarah.  "I  am  so  glad!" 

"I  do  not  know  how  Mr.  Freeling  knew  it,"  said  John 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  303 

Holmes.  "  He  seems  to  have  been  prying  into  Mr.  Sev- 
erne's  affairs  in  a  most  unwarrantable  manner.  Yes,  Miss 
Grace,  Margaret  and  Sarah  are  half-sisters." 

"  Then  she  is  Sarah  Leslie  ?" 

"  I  think  she  will  prefer  to  be  called  Sarah  Severne,  as 
her  guardian  desired  she  should  be." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  never  knew  my  father  nor  mother.  I  owe 
a  thousand  times  more  to  him  than  to  them." 

"You  are  right,  Sarah, "said  Margaret,  in  a  whisper.  "I 
will  tell  you  very  soon  all  I  know  of  our  father." 

"  What  could  Mr.  Freeling  have  had  to  say  against  my 
guardian  ?"  continued  Sarah. 

"  Never  mind,  ray  dear  child,"  said  John  Holmes.  "  He 
unburdened  his  mind  to  Margaret  and  me  last  evening,  and 
you  see  it  has  not  disturbed  us.  Don't  let  us  think  about 
him  or  his  stories  now.  After  our  return  to  New  York,  we 
will  hold  a  family  council  over  the  matter,  and  set  ourselves 
to  work  to  defeat  his  schemes." 

As  they  were  on  their  way  back  to  the  hotel,  a  carriage 
in  which  sat  Mr.  Freeling  passed  them,  driven  at  full  speed. 
He  looked  out  of  the  window,-  and  recognizing-  them, 
bowed  with  a  sort  of  determined  expression  on  his  counte- 
nance, which  seemed  meant  to  assure  them  of  his  unaltered 
intentions. 

"  The  game  is  not  yet  yours,"  said  John  Holmes  to  him- 
self, as  he  looked  at  the  carriage,  without  returning  Mr. 
Freeling's  salute.  "  It  is  perhaps  as  well  that  you  should 
understand  that  war  has  been  declared  and  accepted.  You 
have  undertaken  to  hang  our  friend,  and  we  are  determined 
to  establish  his  innocence.  May^God  defend  the  right !" 

It  was  settled  that  as  the  voyage  to  Europe  would  be 
commenced  in  less  than  two  weeks,  Sarah  should  till  then 
remain  nominally  with  the  Langleys,  though  it  was  at  the 
same  time  expected  that  the  greater  portion  of  her  time  would 
be  passed  with  her  newly-found  relations.  This,  and  various 
other  plans  growing  out  of  the  circumstances  of  their  rela- 
tive positions,  were  discussed  that  evening.  Grace  informed 
John  Holmes  of  Mr.  Freeling's  antecedents  as  far  as  she 
knew  of  them,  and  the  information  she  communicated  not 
only  touched  upon  some  of  the  more  striking  features  of  this 
gentleman's  character,  but  likewise  indicated  a  motive  for 


304  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

his  animosity  toward  Severne.  John  Holmes  knew,  upon 
reflection,  that  the  source  of  Freeling's  information  in  re- 
gard to  Sarah's  parentage  must  have  been  the  letters  which 
Severne  had  replaced  in  the  drawer,  of  which  he,  John 
Holmes,  had  the  key.  It  was  very  evident  then  that  Sev- 
erne's  privacy  had  been  invaded,  and  he  looked  forward  to 
his  return  to  New  York  throwing  a  good  deal  of  light  upon 
the  whole  subject.  The  next  morning  at  an  early  hour  the 
whole  party  took  their  departure  from  Lake  George,  and 
ere  nightfall  were  comfortably  settled  in  their  respective 
homes. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

UT    AMERIS    AMABILIS    ESTO. 

THE  longer  John  Holmes  reflected  upon  the  charge  which 
Mr.  Freeling  had  made  against  Severue,  the  more  he  was 
convinced  of  its  absurdity.  Why  the  latter  should  have 
written  such  a  letter  as  had  been  shown  to  him  he  could  not 
possibly  discover,  and  there  was  no  one  in  New  York  who 
could  give  him  such  information  in  regard  to  Severne's  pre- 
vious history  as  might  have  elucidated  the  subject.  He  had 
a  long  conference  with  Goodall  over  the  affair,  and  though 
both  agreed  that  Severne  had  undergone  trouble  of  some 
kind,  neither  for  a  moment  doubted  that  he  had  done  his 
whole  duty  in  any  trials  to*which  he  might  have  been  sub- 
jected. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,  though,"  said  Goodall,  "  why  he  should 
confess  to  having  perpetrated  an  act  from  which  I  am  sure 
his  whole  soul  would  revolt.  You  say  the  date  of  the  letter 
was  the  28th  of  June.  Now  I  know  that  about  that  time, 
and  for  several  months  previous,  he  was  deeply  engrossed 
with  his  studies.  You  may  recollect  that  on  the  occasion 
of  his  sending  an  order  here  for  a  number  of  books,  not  one 
of  which  we  had,  you  were  struck  with  the  singular  fact  that 
they  were  nearly  all  on  hallucinations,  dreams,  visions,  and 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  305 

the  like.  It  was  just  about  the  time  this  letter  must  have 
been  written." 

"  I  remember  it  well,  and  the  circumstance  may  be  a  clew- 
to  the  solution  of  what  is  now  a  mystery.  He  may  have 
written  that  letter  in  his  sleep,  for  all  we  know;  stranger 
things  than  that  have  been  done  in  that  condition.  Maury 
tells  us  that  he  knew  a  gentleman,  possessed  of  a  very  gentle 
disposition,  who  often  dreamed  that  he  had  killed  people. 
It  is  very  probable  that  Severne  does  not  even  know  of  the 
existence  of  this  confession." 

"I  recollect  now,"  answered  Goodall,  "that  it  was  on 
the  1st  of  July  that  Severne  came  here,  the  first  time  in 
many  weeks,  and  got  the  Ulrich  de  Hntten.  You  may  re- 
member that  it  was  that  night  that  the  attempted  burglary 
took  place.  I  remarked  then  that  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
been  ill,  so  very  much  was  his  appearance  altered.  And  a 
few  days  afterward  I  met  Dr.  Lawrence,  and  he  told  me,  in 
answer  to  my  inquiries,  that  Severne  had  seriously  impaired 
his  health  by  too  close  application  to  study,  and  that  he  was 
going  to  travel  with  a  view  to  its  amendment.  Now  I  know, 
as  the  result  of  ray  own  excessive  intellectual  exertion,  that 
hallucinations  of  various  kinds  occur  to  me.  I  fancy  that  I 
have  done  things  of  the  most  out-of-the-way  character,  which 
never,  by  any  possibility,  could  have  really  occurred.  I 
always,  however,  take  those  visionary  ideas  as  serious  warn- 
iugs,  and  for  a  time  suspend  all  mental  labor." 

"  There  may  be  a  good  deal  in  what  you  say.  I  am  going 
this  evening  to  Severne's  house,  where  I  shall  question  the 
servants  closely.  I  think  it  is  important  to  collect  all  the 
evidence  I  can,  have  it  properly  authenticated,  and  take  it 
with  me  to  Europe.  I  am  very  sure  Mr.  Freeling  intends 
to  have  Severne  arrested,  and  I  know  the  latter  will  do  all 
he  can  to  facilitate  an  investigation.  I  shall  write  to  him 
at  once  and  inform  him  of  what  has  transpired." 

Before  leaving  the  shop,  John  Holmes  wrote  to  Severne, 
giving  him  a  full  account  of  all  that  Mr.  Freeling  had  said, 
and  assuring  him  of  the  undiminished  confidence  with  which 
be  regarded  him.  He  also  told  him  of  Margaret's  and 
Goodall's  unchanged  feeling — a  duty  he  might  have  spared 
himself,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  for  that  young  lady  had 
written  for  herself  before  she  left  Lake  George,  and  her  let- 

27 


306  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

ter  was  already  far  on  its  way  across  the  ocean — and  of  the 
fact  that  she  and  Sarah  were  happy  in  the  knowledge  that 
they  were  sisters. 

"We  shall  leave  here,"  he  wrote,  "on  the  22d  of  this 
month,  and  will  be  in  Paris  by  the  20th  of  November.  I 
shall  bring  with  me  such  evidence  as  I  can  collect  and  as  I 
think  will  be  useful  to  you.  I  do  not  suppose  it  will  be 
possible  for  you,  using  all  dispatch,  to  reach  that  city  before 
the  1st  of  January.  Of  course  you  will  hurry  forward  as 
soon  as  possible  to  meet  this  atrocious  charge.  Do  not  for- 
get that  thus  far  your  enemy  has  met  with  a  signal  failure. 
It  will  require  something  more  than  your  own  confession  to 
make  us  believe  that  you  have  done  this  wrong." 

As  soon  as  he  had  concluded  and  mailed  his  letter,  John 
Holmes  went  home,  where  being  joined  by  Margaret,  the 
two  proceeded  to  Severne's  house.  Margaret  had  made 
several  visits  to  the  library  and  picture-gallery  since  their 
owner's  absence,  and  therefore  was  well  known  to  Mrs. 
Smith,  the  housekeeper,  who  had  received  instructions  from 
Severne  both  in  regard  to  her  and  John  Holmes.  Inquiries 
being  made  for  Wilson,  Mrs.  Smith  informed  them  that  he 
had  gone  out,  but  would  be  back  in  a  moment,  and  John 
Holmes  and  Margaret  ascended  to  the  library  to  await  his 
return. 

When  they  reached  the  room,  John  Holmes  opened  the 
drawer  in  which  Severne  had  placed  the  letters  relating 
to  Sarah,  and  found  them  apparently  undisturbed.  He  was 
about  to  close  it  again,  when  his  eye  was  attracted  by  a 
sleeve-button  lying  half-concealed  by  a  paper.  He  picked 
it  up  and  examined  it.  It  was  a  small  gold  button,  of  odd, 
rough  workmanship,  of  the  kind  that  several  years  ago  were 
brought  from  New  Mexico  and  California.  On  the  top  was 
the  letter  F,  formed  of  very  small  garnets.  John  Holmes 
at  once  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Freeling  had 
dropped  this  from  his  sleeve,  and  had  gone  away  without 
at  the  time  being  aware  of  his  loss.  It  was  therefore  im- 
portant as  one  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence  he  wished  to 
get  together. 

While  he  was  showing  it  to  Margaret,  Wilson  entered 
the  room.  John  Holmes  informed  him  that  it  had  become 
important  to  ascertain  in  what  frame  of  mind  his  master  had 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  307 

been  on  and  about  the  28th  of  June  last,  and  to  obtain  in- 
formation in  regard  to  any  occurrences  which  took  place  at 
that  time.  It  was  not  long  before  Wilson  was  enabled  to 
recall  the  circumstances  of  that  period,  and  he  gave  a  very 
clear  and  satisfactory  account  of  them. 

"I  recollect,"  he  said,  "that  it  was  about  that  time 
Mrs.  Wiggins  came  to  see  Mr.  Severne  for  the  first  time. 
He  had  given  me  orders  to  allow  a  woman  whom  he  had 
been  expecting  for  some  time  to  come  up  at  once,  and  as 
she  said  her  business  was  important  I  showed  her  the  way 
and  left  her  at  the  door.  She  went  in,  but  she  did  not  stay 
long ;  and  when  she  came  down  into  the  hall  she  told  me  I 
had  better  hurry  up  stairs,  as  Mr.  Severne  was  not  well. 
She- said  he  had  called  her  Francisca,  and  addressed  her  as 
his  wife.  I  went  up  and  found  him  very  much  agitated. 
He  was  just  about  ringing  the  bell ;  and  as  soon  as  I  entered 
the  door  he  asked  me  some  questions  in  regard  to  her.  I 
saw  that  he  took  her  for  a  lady,  when  in  fact  she  was  a  very 
coarse- looking  woman  in  everyway.  The  next  day,  I  think 
in  the  evening,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  again  I  found  him  a 
good  deal  excited.  He  gave  me  orders  about  a  lady  who 
he  supposed  had  been  np  stairs,  but  no  person  had  gone  up 
that  evening,  for  I  sat  in  the  hall,  and  could  not  have  been 
mistaken.  The  next  night  he  consulted  Dr.  Lawrence,  and 
had  a  long  conversation  with  him.  I  was  sent  for,  and  the 
doctor  asked  me  some  questions,  which  showed  me  they  had 
been  talking  about  these  things.  I  heard  the  doctor  say, 
as  I  went  out  of  the  room,  that  they  were  delusions,  all  of 
them,  and  that  Mr.  Severne  was  studying  too  hard." 

John  Holmes  and  Margaret  listened  to  Wilson's  recital 
with  the  most  painful  interest.  Both  were  sure  that  Sev- 
erne had  suffered  under  a  temporary  mental  aberration,  due 
to  intense  intellectual  labor,  and  that  during  one  of  these 
attacks  he  had  written  the  letter  which  Mr.  Freeling  had 
taken  from  the  room. 

"I  am  very  certain  that  Mr.  Severne  was  working  very 
hard,"  continued  Wilson.  "  Frequently  he  sat  up  all  night 
in  this  room  reading  and  writing.  I  am  sure  that  for  a 
week  at  a  time  he  has  often  gone  without  sleep,  or  eating 
anything  of  consequence." 

Having  received  from  Mrs.  Smith  a  full  account  of  the 


308  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

visits  Collins  and  Mr.  Freeling  had  made  to  the  library,  and 
requesting  Wilson  to  send  Mrs.  Wiggins  to  him  the  next 
day,  John  Holmes  called  to  Margaret, — who  had  gone  to 
the  shelves,  and  was  looking  through  the  books — and  told 
her  it  was  time  for  them  to  go. 

Margaret  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  peruse  the 
volume,  a  small  one,  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  She 
was  alone  with  her  grandfather,  for  Wilson  and  Mrs.  Smith, 
finding  that  they  were  no  longer  required,  had  left  the  room. 
John  Holmes  seeing  her  abstraction,  approached  her  and 
looked  over  her  shoulder.  It  was  a  Spanish  book,  the  poems 
of  Calderon  de  la  Barca,  which  Margaret  held  in  her  hand ; 
but  though  she  understood  the  beautiful  language  in  which 
these  exquisite  verses  were  written,  her  attention  was  con- 
centrated on  the  marginal  notes,  written  in  a  delicate  hand- 
writing, with  which  the  book  abounded.  Her  quick,  hur- 
ried respiration,  her  parted  lips,  and  the  straining  of  her 
eyes  for  each  word,  which  in  the  dim  twilight  she  could 
scarcely  see,  showed  how  absorbing  was  the  interest  which 
had  been  excited  in  her. 

It  was  impossible  for  John  Holines's  old  eyes  to  distin- 
guish enough  of  the  writing  to  make  any  sense  of  it,  and  he 
was  about  to  walk  quietly  away  and  wait  till  Margaret  had 
completed  her  study,  when  she  suddenly  turned  toward  him 
with  a  look  of  most  intense  pleasure  and  triumph  ;  and  hold- 
ing out  the  book  to  him,  said  : 

"  There,  grandpapa,  rend  that  I  I  knew  Robert  Severne 
was  not  a  murderer.  How  wonderful,  and  yet  how  simple, 
are  the  ways  that  God  takes  to  make  the  truth  known  !  Oh, 
my  love,"  she  resumed,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair, — and  John 
Holmes,  taking  the  open  volume,  walked  with  it  to  the  win- 
dow,— "oh,  my  love,  I  have  never  doubted  you:  this  was 
not  needed  for  me  ;  but  God  has  heard  my  prayer,  and  will 
make  the  world  acknowledge  your  innocence  and  your  un- 
tarnished honor !" 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  .John  Holmes,  as  he  laid  his  hand 
on  her  fair  young  head  and  drew  it  to  his  breast,  "  we  who 
have  never  faltered  in  our.  faith  and  love,  can  read  these 
words  without  surprise  and  without  receiving  a  single  addi- 
tional assurance  of  the  justice  of  our  convictions.  But  we 
have  here  evidence  which  does  not  admit  of  a  question,  if 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  309 

this  is,  as  I  am  confident  it  is,  the  handwriting  of  his  late 
wife.  Wretched  woman,  what  a  story  of  guilt  and  shame 
is  here  unfolded,  and  how  bitter  must  have  been  the  anguish 
he  has  endured  !" 

"And  he  has  borne  it  as  an  honest  and  a  true  man  should," 
said  Margaret,  proudly,  "  with  the  resolution  to  live  it  down ; 
and  with  a  spirit  unbroken  and  a  heart  unsubdued,  to  move 
on  through  life  till  God  should  give  him  the  victory.  Dear 
grandpapa,  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved  Robert  Severne 
till  now.  We  were  wrong  to  think  this  was  not  needed.  It 
was  needed  to  make  me  comprehend  the  full  measure  of  his 
noble,  heroic,  and  generous  nature,  a  nature  that,  rather  than 
allovy  the  shadow  of  a  stain  to  rest  on  the  name  of  his  wicked 
wife,  prompted  him  to  take  upon  himself  the  odium  of  a 
crime  he  abhorred.  We  will  take  this  book  with  us  to  Eng- 
land, and  the  world  shall  know  how  self-devoted,  how  peer- 
less he  is.  Oh,  grandpapa! "  But  the  tension  upon 

her  nervous  system  was  too  great  for  the  strained  fibers  to 
bear,  and  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears,  Margaret  laid  her 
head  upon  John  Holmes's  shoulder,  and  sobbed  convulsively 
with  the  tumult  of  emotions  which  swelled  within  her. 

John  Holmes  did  not  attempt  to  restrain  her.  He  knew 
that  her  tears  welled  up  from  a  soul  full  of  womanly  pride 
and  the  exalted  feeling  which  sprang  from  the  consciousness 
that  she  had  given  her  trustful  love  to  a  man  whose  lofty 
honor  was  not  only  free  from  guilt  or  stain,  but  which  had 
led  him  to  prefer  the  loss  of  his  own  good  name  rather  than 
bring  reproach  upon  the  one  in  all  the  world  who  had 
wronged  him  most.  It  was  well  that  -she  should  feel  the 
full  force  of  the  impression  which  had  been  produced;  so  he 
stood  in  silence,  with  his  arm  around  her  waist,  waiting  till 
the  passionate  utterance  of  her  joys  and  her  hopes  should 
yield  to  the  calmer  but  not  less  earnest  glow  which  would 
shine  upon  her  while  life  should  last. 

Margaret's  agitation  was  not  of  long  duration.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  had  obtained  the  self-control  natural  to  her,  and 
she  and  her  grandfather  went  home,  happy  in  the  knowledge 
which  the  day  had  given  them. 

When  she  got  to  her  own  room,  Margaret  took  the  vol- 
ume which  contained  the  evidence  that  was  to  overthrow 
Mr.  Freeling's  machinations,  and  carefully  sealed  it  up  with- 

27* 


310  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

out  reading  another  line  in  it.  She  had  seen  enough  to 
know  that  it  contained  the  record  of  events  which  she  felt 
should  only  come  to  her  knowledge  through  him  whom  they 
so  intimately  concerned. 

The  next  morning,  John  Holmes  received  from  Mrs.  Wig- 
gins a  full  account,  given  in  her  usual  circumlocutory  man- 
ner, of  her  first  interview  with  Severne.  There  was  no 
longer  the  least  doubt  in  his  mind,  or  in  Good  all's,  to  whom 
he  related  the  details  given  by  Wilson  and  Mrs.  Wiggins, 
that  their  friend  had  labored  under  a  temporary  aberration 
of  mind,  due  to  severe  intellectual  exertion,  and  that  he  had 
written  the  note  to  Lawrence  during  that  period.  The 
statements  of  the  two  witnesses  were  written  out,  sworn  to 
by  them  before  both  the  British  and  French  consuls,  and 
such  other  means  taken  as  would  insure  a  fair  investigation 
of  the  matter. 

On  the  22d  of  October,  John  Holmes,  Margaret,  and 
Sarah  took  their  departure  from  New  York  in  the  Arago 
for  Southampton.  Goodall  was  left  in  charge  of  the  shop 
and  of  John  Holmes's  house,  in  which  latter  he  was  to  re- 
side during  the  absence  of  the  owner.  The  night  before 
leaving,  John  Holmes  told  him  of  Margaret's  engagement 
to  Severne. 

"  How  different  are  my  feelings  in  regard  to  this  mar- 
riage from  those  which  I  experienced  when  my  poor  child 
was  about  to  marry  Richard  Leslie  !"  he  continued.  "Then 
I  was  full  of  apprehensions,  which  were  too  fully  realized ; 
now  I  am  confident  that  my  dear  Margaret  will  be  happy." 

"  She  will  be  happy,  depend  upon  it,"  replied  Goodall. 
"  I  have  hoped  that  what  you  have  told  me  would  come  to 
pass.  You  have  given  me  your  confidence,  now  listen  to 
mine." 

The  story  that  Goodall  related  greatly  moved  John 
Holmes,  and  when  it  was  ended,  with  a  long  and  loving 
grasp  of  hands,  they  parted,  saddened  at  the  recollections 
that  had  been  awakened,  but  hopeful  for  the  future  of  one 
who  was  now  first  in  their  hearts. 

As  to  Mr.  Freeling,  immediately  on  his  return  to  New 
York  from  Lake  George,  he  had  begun  his  preparations  for 
the  campaign  against  Severne.  Confident  that  the  latter 
would  be  convicted  of  murder,  he  had,  to  the  utmost  of  his 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  311 

power,  so  deranged  Severne's  business  affairs,  that  when 
the  desired  result  should  be  obtained,  nothing  would  be 
easier  than  for  him  to  appropriate  a  large  portion  of  the 
property  to  himself.  His  previous  visit  to  England  in  Sev- 
erne's interest  had  resulted  in  his  forming  an  acquaintance 
with  a  distant  relative  of  Severne,  to  whom,  in  the  event  of 
the  latter's  decease  without  heirs,  the  estate  would  descend 
as  the  next  of  kin.  It  was  Mr.  Freeling's  purpose  to  visit 
this  individual,  and,  if  possible,  to  form  an  alliance  with  him 
which  would  be  to  the  material  advantage  of  both  parties. 
It  was  also  his  intention  to  trace  up  all  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  death  of  Mrs.  Severne,  so  as  to  get  from 
them  such  material  as  would  best  serve  the  ends  he  had  in 
view.  Then  with  this  evidence,  and  with  the  confession  he 
had  taken  from  Severne's  library,  he  would  call  upon  the 
proper  legal  officer,  and  submit  his  case.  Whether  the  ar- 
rest would  take  place  within  the  British  dominions,  or  in 
those  of  a  country  from  which  Severne's  extradition  could 
be  demanded,  was  a  matter  with  which  he  could  not  inter- 
fere. His  opinion  was,  however,  that  no  proceedings  should 
be  had  till  Severne  had  arrived  in  Paris. 

If  Mr.  Freeling  had  been  actuated  by  a  due  regard  for 
justice  and  the  safety  of  society,  or  if,  even  governed  by  mo- 
tives of  personal  revenge  he  had  believed  Severne  to  be  a 
murderer,  we  should  do  wrong  to  endeavor  to  cast  odium  on 
his  proceedings.  On  his  first  reading  Severne's  note  ad- 
dressed to  Lawrence,  he  had  for  a  moment  believed  it  to  be 
a  confession  of  a  crime  actually  committed.  But  upon  a 
full  consideration  of  all  the  circumstances  connected  with 
the  matter,  he  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  such  was 
not  the  case.  He  was  too  sharp  a  lawyer  not  to  perceive 
that  the  letter  had  been  written  under  great  mental  excite- 
ment, and  had  not  been  sent  to  its  address.  He  knew  also 
that  Lawrence  was  fully  acquainted  with  many  of  the  par- 
ticulars attendant  on  Mrs.  Severne's  death,  and  his  own  idea 
was  that  the  letter  had  been  dictated  by  a  morbid  feeling  of 
self-accusation  growing  out  of  the  unhappy  relations  which 
had  existed  between  Severne  and  his  wife  during  their  mar- 
riage. Neithercould  he  believe  that  if  the  letter  was  a  genuine 
confession,  the  writer  would,  after  repenting  having  written 
it,  leave  it  in  his  library,  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  any  inquis- 


312  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

itive  person  who  should  open  his  port-folio.  This  was  in- 
credible. Still,  he  was  confident  that  with  proper  manage- 
ment and  a  little  perjury,  he  would  be  able  to  accomplish  the 
object  he  had  at  heart.  It  was  important  to  include  Law- 
rence in  his  scheme,  as  an  accessory,  so  as  to  destroy  the 
credibility  of  his  evidence,  but  he  had  strong  doubts  in  re- 
gard to  his  ability  to  do  this.  Nevertheless,  he  had  taken 
passage  to  Liverpool,  in  a  steamer  which  left  New  York  a 
week  before  the  Arago,  and  when  John  Holmes,  Margaret, 
and  Sarah  arrived  at  Southampton,  he  was  in  Cornwall, 
holding  his  first  interview  with  ISeverne's  heir-presumptive. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    END. 

As  soon  as  John  Holmes  arrived  in  London,  he  sought 
out  the  best  legal  advice  which  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
obtain.  The  gentleman  to  whom  he  was  directed* listened 
attentively  to  all  he  had  to  say,  and  then  telling  his  client  to 
give  himself  no  further  uneasiness  about  the  matter  for  the 
present,  promised  to  look  up  all  the  persons  who  it  was 
probable  knew  anything  of  the  circumstances  attendant  on 
Mrs.  Severne's  death.  "I  will  send,"  he  continued,  "my 
best  clerk  to  Suez  immediately,  by  the  overland  route,  so  as 
to  guard  against  the  possibility  of  your  letter  having  mis- 
carried. I  shall  urge  Mr.  Severne  to  come  as  quickly  as 
possible  direct  to  London,  and  await  the  issue  here.  I  have 
all  the  data  now  that  I  wish,  except  the  book  which  you  tell 
me  your  granddaughter  has  in  her  possession.  I  should  like 
to  have  that." 

John  Holmes  replied  that  he  did  not  believe  his  grand- 
daughter would  feel  justified  in  giving  up  the  book  unless  it 
was  essential  to  the  success  of  Severne's  cause  that  she 
should  do  so. 

"I  can't  say  that  such  is  the  case,"  replied  Mr.  Wickham. 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  313 

"  If  it  should  become  necessary,  I  will  let  you  know.  If  you 
have  any  letters  to  send  to  your  friend,  get  them  ready  by  to- 
night, as  Mr.  McAlpin  will  leave  early  to-morrow  morning. 
And  pow,  as  you  can  do  nothing  further  to  help  me,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Wickham,  "the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  take 
your  granddaughters  over  to  Paris  till  I  telegraph  for  yon, 
which  I  will  do  in  time  for  you  to  meet  Mr.  Severne  here 
immediately  on  his  arrival.  By-the-by,  you  are  sure  this 
Mr.  Freeling  is  in  the  country?" 

"  Certainly  1  He  left  New  York  a  week  before  I  did, 
and  I  was  told  at  Southampton  that  he  had  gone  to  Corn- 
wall." 

"  Very  well,  we  will  take  care  of  him.  Go  to  Paris,  and 
the  Continent  generally,  enjoy  yourselves,  and  do  not  enter- 
tain any  anxiety  in  regard  to  Mr.  Severne.  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  now  that  I  know  something  of  his  case,  and  that 
my  information  is  flot  in  the  least  to  his  disadvantage.  I 
say  this  in  order  that  you  may  be  perfectly  easy.  You  will 
probably  think  I  am  very  anxious  to  get  rid  of  yon.  In 
truth  I  am.  Your  presence  here  will  certainly  become 
ki;own  to  Mr.  Freeling,  and  thus,  perhaps,  lead  to  the  dis- 
covery of  movements  I  wish  to  keep  from  his  knowledge." 

Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  John  Holmes,  the  following 
day,  proceeded  with  Margaret  and  Sarah  to  Paris  by  way  of 
Folkestone  and  Boulogne.  After  spending  a  week  in  this 
city,  they  went  to  Cologne,  and  thence  up  the  Rhine,  stop- 
ping at  those  places  on  the  way  which  possessed  features  of 
interest  to  them. 

The  two  girls  were  delighted  with  all  they  saw,  and  even 
John  Holmes  took  pleasure  in  recalling  the  scenes  which 
many  years  ago  were  familiar  to  him.  They  explored  the 
famous  ruins  which  stand  upon  almost  every  rock,  over- 
hanging the  dark-blue  waves  of  the  beautiful  river;  list- 
ened to  the  many  legends  that  old  and  young  peasants 
had  to  tell  of  them,  and  saw  more  of  the  life  of  the  people 
than  most  travelers  who  pass  up  the  Rhine.  The  weather 
was  cold,  but  they  did  not  care  for  that,  they  kept  them- 
selves warm  by  long  walks  through  the  day,  and  at  night- 
fall they  gathered  round  the  big  porcelain  stoves  to  hear 
the  gossip  and  wonderful  tales  which  circulated  till  a  late 
hour. 


314  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

Thus  they  reached  Frankfort,  and  thence  they  went  to 
Heidelberg,  where  they  found  more  to  interest  them  than  in 
any  other  place  since  they  had  left  Paris.  The  University, 
with  its  museum  and  splendid  library;  the  cathedral,  di- 
vided into  two  nearly  equal  parts  by  a  wall,  so  as  to  give 
both  Protestants  and  Catholics  a  share  of  it;  the  Philoso- 
phen  Weg,  where  the  students  resort  to  settle  their  diffi- 
culties by  cutting  at  each  other  with  schlagers ;  the  Church 
of  St.  Peter,  to  which  Jerome  of  Prague  affixed  his  theses; 
the  Tower  of  the  Konigstuhl,  from  which  the  most  magnifi- 
cent view  in  all  Germany  is  to  be  obtained,  and  whence  even 
the  spire  of  Strasburg,  nearly  a  hundred  miles  distant,  can 
be  perceived  ;  the  Wolfsbrunnen,  where  they  dined  on  trout 
taken  not  half  an  hour  previously  from  the  sparkling  stream  ; 
and  above  all,  the  glorious  old  Schloss,  the  most  magnifi- 
cent ruin  in  Europe  except  the  Alhambra,  were  sources  of 
pleasure  which  could  not  fail  to  make  Heidelberg  long  an 
object  of  remembrance  with  them. 

From  Heidelberg  they  went  to  Basel,  where,  in  the  old 
cathedral,  high  above  the  rapid  stream  at  its  base,  they  saw 
the  tomb  of  Erasmus,  the  chamber  in  which  the  great 
Council  of  Basel  was  held,  and  the  maiden,  whose  arms  and 
breast,  full  of  concealed  knives,  gave  torture  and  death  to 
the  victim  forced  into  her  hideous  embrace. 

It  was  almost  time  now  to  be  expecting  Severne's  arrival 
in  Paris,  and  John  Holmes  judged  it  best  to  hurry  back  to 
that  <?ity.  Interfering  somewhat  with  Mr.  Wickham's  plans, 
he  had,  in  his  letter  to  Severne  from  London,  stated  that 
he,  with  his  two  granddaughters,  would  be  in  Paris,  and  had 
suggested  that,  instead  of  proceeding  direct  to  London,  it 
would  add  greatly  to  the  pleasure  of  them  all  if  Severne 
would  join  them  in  the  former  city,  and  then  all  go  to  Lon- 
don together.  They  did  not,  therefore,  remain  long  in 
Switzerland,  but  taking  Zurich  and  Geneva  on  their  way, 
in  a  few  days  were  back  in  their  lodgings  in  the  Rue  de 
Choiseul. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  John  Holmes  had  finished 
his  breakfast,  he  went  to  the  Place  de  la  Bourse,  to  inquire 
of  his  banker,  who  was  also  Severne's,  in  regard  to  the  last 
intelligence  of  his  friend.  To  his  great  surprise,  he  was  in- 
formed that  Severne  was  expected  that  evening,  having  tel- 


^  ROBERT    SEVERNE.  315 

egraphed  from  Marseilles  to  that  effect.  Margaret  and 
Sarah  were  of  course  delighted  when  their  grandfather  re- 
turned and  communicated  this  intelligence  to  them,  and  they 
were  in  no  frame  of  mind  to  make  the  excursion  to  Mar- 
seilles which  had  been  planned.  The  train  from  this  city 
was  due  at  six  o'clock,  and  John  Holmes,  unable  to  restrain 
his  impatience,  went  to  the  station  to  await  Severne's  ar- 
rival. 

Punctually  to  the  minute  the  train  rushed  into  the  sta- 
tion, and  John  Holmes,  on  the  look-out,  soon  espied  Sev- 
erne,  with  Lawrence  and  de  Hutten,  emerging  from  one  of 
the  carriages.  Greetings  were  given,  inquiries  made,  and 
the  whole  party,  getting  into  a  carriage,  proceeded  to  the 
Grand  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

"  Of  course,"  said  John  Holmes,  addressing  Severne,  after 
they  had  reached  the  latter's  apartments,  "you  received  my 
letter  written  from  London  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  have  received  no  letters  for  several 
months." 

"  Did  not  Mr.  Wickham's  clerk  meet  yon  at  Suez  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  who  Mr.  Wickliam  or  his  clerk 
may  be,  but  to  ray  knowledge  neither  of  them  met  me  at 
Suez  or  anywhere  else." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  what  has  happened  during  your 
absence  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  notion  of  what  has  happened. 
You  have  told  me  that  Margaret  and  Sarah  are  well  and  are 
expecting  me.  .1  propose  to  see  them  in  the  course  of  an 
hour.  So  long  as  they  and  you  are  happy,  I  don't  care  a 
great  deal  for  anything  else." 

In  as  few  words  as  possible  John  Holmes  then  gave  Sev- 
erne the  details  of  Mr.  Freeling's  conduct  and  supposed 
plans,  and  of  the  measures  he  had  taken  for  their  defeat. 
To  say  that  Severne  was  astonished,  would  not  express  the 
extent  of  his  emotion  ;  but  after  the  first  shock  had  passed 
off,  his  feeling. was  one  of  amusement  at  the  absurdity  of 
Freeling's  ideas. 

"  I  shall  have  no  difficulty,  my  dear  old  friend,  in  defeat- 
ing all  his  infamous  schemes.  It  is  as  well  that  the  matter 
should  be  settled  now  forever,  and  I  intend  to  give  Mr. 
Freeling  every  opportunity  to  effect  his  object.  If  he  does 


316  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

not  succeed,  it  will  simply  be  because  my  cause  is  too  strong 
for  him.  Of  course  I  shall  go  at  once  to  London  and  await 
the  measures  which  the  officers  of  justice  may  see  fit  to  take 
on  his  information.  You  have  acted  with  very  great  dis- 
cretion ;  but  I  never  can  thank  you  sufficiently  for  your  con- 
tinued confidence  in  the  face  of  what  must  have  struck  you 
as  a  most  damaging  proof  of  my  criminality.  And  Goodall, 
too !  You  tell  me  he  also  did  not  lose  faith.  You  are  true 
friends,  indeed.  And  Margaret,"  continued  Severne,  his 
face  lighting  up  with  pride.  "  I  will  not  say  to  you  what  I 
think  of  her.  As  soon  as  1  can  get  myself  into  a  present- 
able shape  I  will  go  with  you  to  see  her,  and  will  tell  her  in 
person.  I  do  not  know  what  book  you  can  refer  to  as  con- 
taining valuable  evidence  in  my  favor,  and  which  she  found 
in  my  library.  I  have  no  recollection  of  any  such  volume. 
It  will  not  be  needed,  I  think.  Mr.  Freeling  is  reckoning 
altogether  without  his  host." 

"And  Sarah,"  resumed  Severne,  after  a  moment's  pause; 
"of  course  she  did  not  suspect  me  of  this  guilt?" 

"No;  with  the  rest  of  us,  she  has  been  perfectly  firm  in 
her  confidence.  You  would  scarcely  know  your  ward,  my 
dear  Severne.  She  is  altogether  a  different  being  from  what 
she  was  when  you  left  her  six  months  ago,  and  even  then 
she  had  very  greatly  improved,  as  you  know.  She  is  one 
of  the  most  gentle,  artless,  and  truly  religious  girls  I  ever 
knew.  Everything  she  does  is  dictated  by  a  high  sense  of 
duty  and  right.  You  have  proven  that  none  are  so  low  as 
to  be  beyond  the  hope  of  elevation.  Every  precept  you 
gave  her  is  treasured  up  and  acted  upon.  She  fairly  seems 
to  worship  you." 

"  She  and  you  both  give  me  more  than  my  due,"  replied 
Severne.  "  She  is  a  good  girl,  however,  and  that  is  the 
chief  point  in  her  favor.  I  am  very  proud  of  her,  I  assure 
you.  But  come,  I  am  ready  now  to  go  with  you  to  the  Rue 
de  Choiseul.  Lawrence  and  de  Hutten  will  take  care  of 
themselves  for  the  evening.  To-morrow  we  will  introduce 
them  to  the  ladies,  and  we  will  all  go  at  once  to  London. 
I  must  not  lose  a  moment  in  putting  myself  within  Mr.  Free- 
ling's  reach." 

John  Holmes  left  Severne  in  the  parlor  of  their  suite  of 
apartments  while  he  went  to  acquaint  Margaret  and  Sarah 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.      s  317 

of  his  arrival.  Margaret  was  the  first  to  enter  the  room. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  describe  the  meeting.  It  was  -just 
what  it  ought  to  have  been.  That  is  enough  to  say  about  it. 

"And  you  have  returned  in  good  health,  I  am  sure,"  she 
said,  smiling  with  the  joy  that  filled  her  heart.  "  Your  looks 
tell  me  that,  although  you  are  almost  as  brown  as  an  Indian." 

"  Yes,  I  am  well  both  in  mind  and  body.  I  believe  Law- 
rence is  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  condition,  and  will  not 
insist  npon  any  more  traveling.  My  darling,"  he  continued, 
"before  I  say  another  word,  I  must  tell  you  that  the  confi- 
dence you  have  shown  in  my  honor  has  not  been  misplaced. 
You  do  not  require  any  such  assurance,  I  know,  but  it  will 
be  a  satisfaction  for  yon  to  hear  from  my  lips  the  expression 
of  my  pride-in  you  for  the  constancy  you  have  shown.  There 
is  nothing  in  this  world  so  valuable  to  me  as  your  love ; 
and  now  that  it  has  been  so  severely  tried,  it  is  a  thousand- 
fold more  precious  to  me  than  ever  before.  I  am  glad  this 
test  has  been  applied  to  it,  for  though  I  was  certain  that 
come  what  might  there  would  be  no  danger  of  your  faltering 
in  your  affection,  it  is  a  pleasure  for  me  to  know  that  you 
have  stood  the  trial.  Such  experiences  as  that  you  have 
undergone  never  pass  away  without  leaving  us  better  than 
they  found  us." 

"  You  know  I  told  you  yon  could  trust  me,  dear  Robert. 
But  I,  too,  am  glad  at  what  has  occurred.  I  know  more  of 
you  now  than  I  should  have  discovered  by  years  of  uninter- 
rupted smoothness  in  our  lives.  I  understand  something  of 
what  you  have  endured,  can  appreciate  in  some  degree  the 
nobility  and  unselfishness  of  your  nature.-  You  would  never 
have  told  me  of  those  events  in  your  life,  which  have  given 
you  so  much  sorrow,  in  such  a  way  as  to.  reveal  the  mag- 
nanimity-of  your  actions.  I  know  enough  now  for  yon  to 
tell  me  all." 

"My  dear  Margaret,  in  a  few  days  I  will  lay  bare  my 
past  life  to  you.  I  always  intended  to  do  so,  because  it  is 
your  due.  When  you  hear  my  history,  you  will  find  some 
things  to  give  you  pleasure,  more  to  pardon,  and  still  more 
to  pity;  but  you  will  not  find  that  I  have  done  anything 
that  I  knew  to  be  morally  wrong.  I  may  have  been  weak, 
but  I  have  not  been  dishonorable." 

Before  Margaret  could  reply,  Sarah  and  John  Holmes 
28 


318  ROBERT    SB  VERNE. 

came  in.  She  held  out  both  hands  to  her  guardian,  and 
greeted  him  with  the  most  unaffected  grace. 

"You  have  not  forgotten  me?"  he  said,  with  a  smile  of 
admiration,  as  he  gazed  upon  her  face,  which  had  increased 
very  much  in  loveliness  since  he  had  last  seen  it. 

"Oh,  no  ;  how  could  I  ever  forget  you  ?" 

"  I  should  scarcely  have  known  you,  my  dear  child,"  he 
continued,  as  he  kissed  her  forehead.  "A  few  months  have 
made  such  a  difference  in  you.  You  are  as  tall  as  your 
sister,  and  resemble  her  still  more  than  when  I  saw  you 
last." 

"Do  you  still  think  I  look  like  Margaret?"  asked  Sarah, 
with  manifest  pleasure.  "  Many  persons  notice  it  now, 
though  I  think  you  were  the  only  one  who  detected  a  like- 
ness at  6rst.  I  have  been  so  happy,"  she  continued,  in  a 
low  whisper  to  him,  "in  the  knowledge  that  she  is  my  sister. 
And  she  has  told  me  something  else  which  has  given  me 
still  more  pleasure." 

"Has  she?"  said  Severne,  with  a  smile.  "Yes,  we  will 
all  be  together  before  very  long,  my  dear  child.  But  come," 
he  continued,  addressing  them  all,  "let  us  hold  our  first 
family  council,  and  arrange  our  programme.  In  the  first 
place,  we  must  start  for  London  to-morrow;  Lawrence  and 
de  Hutten  will  go  with  us.  After  we  arrive  there,  our  future 
movements  must  depend  upon  circumstances.  Of  course  I 
shall  see  Mr.  Wickham,  and  be  guided  to  a  great  extent  by 
his  judgment.  My  present  intention  is,  however,  to  go  at 
once  and  deliver  myself  up  for  trial  on  the  charge  Mr.  Free- 
ling  has  brought." 

"They  will  imprison  you  then,  will  they  not?"  said  Mar- 
garet. 

"Yes,  I  shall  be  imprisoned,  for  mu*rder  is  not  a  bailable 
offense." 

Margaret's  and  Sarah's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  the  for- 
mer succeeded  in  subduing  her  emotion  in  a  great  degree, 
and  said : 

"You  are  right;  bear  it  through  to  the  end,  and  your 
triumph  will  be  all  the  greater." 

"I  will  tell  you  nothing  now,"  said  Severne,  "relative  to 
the  character  of  the  defense  I  shall  make,  except  in  regard 
to  the  letter  to  Lawrence  which  Freeling  must  have  taken 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  319 

from  my  port-folio.  I  thought  Lawrence  had  destroyed  it, 
but  of  course  I  gave  him  another  paper  by  mistake.  There 
is  such  a  ludicrous  side  to  the  history  of  that  document  that 
I  can  scarcely  think  of  it  without  laughing,  although  it  has 
been  the  means  of  causing  me  this  annoyance."  Without 
going  into  all  the  particulars,  Severne  then  gave  an  account 
of  the  main  circumstances  which  led  to  his  writing  the  note 
to  which  Mr.  Freeling  attached  so  great  a  degree  of  im- 
portance. "My  dear  Margaret,"  he  continued,  "I  would 
like  very  much  to  have  the  book  to  which  you  all  appear  to 
ascribe  so  much  value.  I  cannot  imagine  what  it  can  be." 
Margaret  left  the  room,  and  soon  returned  with  the  volume 
in  question.  She  handed  it  to  Severne,  who,  observing  that 
it  w.as  carefully  sealed,  gave  her  a  glance  which  showed  that 
he  understood  her  delicacy,  and  then  proceeded  to  open  it. 

He  looked  at  the  title-page  first.  "  Calderon  de  la  JBarca," 
he  said,  as  if  endeavoring  to  recall  the  volume  to  his  mind.  "  I 
have  a  dim  impression  that  this  book  has  somehow  or  other 
been  connected  with  incidents  of  my  life,  but  I  cannot  now 
bring  it  to  mind."  He  then  looked  through  the  leaves,  and 
at  once  became  intensely  interested  in  their  perusal.  His 
face  glowed  with  anger  and  shame  as  he  read  the  guilty 
record  of  his  wife's  dishonored  life,  and  at  last  he  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  sat  for  several  minutes  appar- 
ently absorbed  in  the  reflections  that  had  been  awakened. 
No  one  said  a  word,  but  Margaret  went  quietly  to  his  side 
and  put  her  little  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looked  down 
upon  him  as  if  her  whole  soul  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  My  darling,"  said  Severne,  in  a  low  tone,  which  only 
reached  her  ears,  "  I  understand  this  now.  This  book  was 
mentioned  to  me  several  years  ago  as  being  in  existence,  and 
a  thorough  search  was  instituted  for  it  without  success.  I 
think  I  know  how  it  came  to  be  in  my  library.  It  is  strange, 
though,  that  I  should  never  have  noticed  it.  It  contains  the 
record  of  so  much  baseness  and  duplicity  that  your  pure 
mind  could  not  comprehend  it  in  all  its  guilt  and  ignominy 
and  dishonor.  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  make  use  of 
it  in  my  defense,  but  I  shall  not  sacrifice  myself  any  longer 
to  save  her  name  from  disgrace.  I  have  you  to  live  for, 
your  honor  to  protect,  and  I  will  see  to  it  above  all  things 
that  no  stain  rests  upon  that  of  your  husband." 


320  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"I  know  you  will  do  what  is  right.  I  have  no  fear  for 
you  or  myself." 

Severne  put  the  book  into  his  pocket,  and  the  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  his  adventures  during  his  long  journey. 
Everything  had  gone  on  well,  and  when  the  party  arrived 
at  San  Francisco,  and  were  about  to  take  passage  in  a  sail- 
ing vessel  for  Calcutta,  a  steamer  was  advertised  to  leave 
the  next  day  for  that  port,  and  thus,  by  taking  passage  in  it, 
they  had  been  enabled  to  shorten  very  materially  the  voyage 
across  the  Pacific.  Upon  arriving  at  Calcutta,  they  were  so 
fortunate  as  to  find  another  steamer  just  about  to  start  for 
Suez.  Taking  passage  in  it,  they  had  arrived  at  this  latter 
place  before  Mr.  McAlpin,  but  instead  of  coming  direct 
from  there  to  Paris,  they  had  gone  to  Constantinople,  where 
they  had  remained  several  days.  Owing  to  their  rapid 
movements,  Severne  had  failed  to  receive  the  last  letters 
written  to  him  from  the  United  States,  or  those  sent  from 
London. 

Joshua  had  remained  in  San  Francisco,  with  every  pros- 
pect of  becoming  in  a  short  time  a  very  wealthy  man.  His 
chemical  knowledge  was  in  great  demand,  and  he  had,  be- 
sides, found  a  capitalist  who  had  bought  from  him  a  half- 
interest  in  his  patent  process  for  making  the  new  explosive 
compound  he  had  discovered,  and  which,  it  was  believed  by 
many,  would  ere  long  lead  to  the  complete  disuse  of  gun- 
powder. He  had  intrusted  Severne  with  two  letters,  one 
for  John  Holmes  and  the  other  for  Mrs.  Markland,  and  had 
been  profuse  in  his  messages  of  remembrance  to  all  of  the 
household. 

It  was  late  when  they  separated  that  night.  On  his  re- 
turn to  his  hotel,  Severne  communicated  to  Lawrence  and 
de  Hutten  so  much  of  what  had  taken  place  during  his  ab- 
sence as  was  necessary  to  enable  them  to  form  a  clear  idea 
of  the  subject.  They  both  agreed  that  his  plan  of  going 
at  once  to  London  was  a  perfectly  proper  one,  and  announced 
their  determination  to  go  with  him  and  aid  him  to  the  full 
extent  of  their  ability. 

The  following  morning  early,  the  whole  party  met  at  the 
station  of  the  Northern  Railway,  and  the  same  night 
arrived  safely  in  London. 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  321 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

IN    PRISON. 

WHEN  Severne  and  John  Holmes  called  at  Mr.  Wick- 
ham's  office  the  day  after  their  arrival  in  London,  they  found 
this  gentleman  unprepared  to  give  them  an  immediate  au- 
dience. In  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  however,  he  was 
disengaged,  and  they  were  invited  into  his  private  office. 

'.'I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said  to  Severne.  "I 
scarcely  suppose  that  you  recollect  me,  but  this  is  not  the 
first  time  I  have  been  employed  in  your  case.  I  was  on  the 
other  side  over  ten  years  ago.  Your  cousin  in  Cornwall 
employed  me  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  evidence  against 
you,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  telling  him  that  the  less 
he  moved  in  the  matter,  the  better  it  would  be  for  him. 
There  was  not  enough  evidence  against  you  then  to  hang  a 
suspicion  on.  You  did  not  notice  that  woman  who  was 
with  me  when  you  were  announced,  and  who  just  went  out? 
Well,  that  woman  was  the  late  Mrs.  Severne's  nurse,  Ellen 
Whiting.  She  is  a  very  valuable  witness,  as  you  know.  Mr. 
Freeling  and  your  cousin  think  she  is  dead.  We'll  show 
them  a  thing  or  two  on  the  trial.  McAlpin  got  back  last 
night.  You  had  left  Suez  two  days  before  he  arrived  there. 
He  followed  you  to  Constantinople,  but  missed  you  again. 
However,  it's  all  right  now.  There's  a  warrant  out  for 
your  apprehension.  They  don't  know  you  are  here.  I 
think  you  had  better  go  with  me  at  once  to  a  magistrate 
and  deliver  yourself  up  for  trial.  There's  a  good  fellow  at 
the  Clerkeuwell  Police  Court,  who  will  treat  you  like  a  gen- 
tleman— Sir  James  Truman.  He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  too. 
Don't  be  afraid.  I  wish  I  was  as  certain  of  living  a  thou- 
sand years  as  I  am  that  you  will  not  be  convicted.  Don't 
ask  me  any  questions.  It's  all  right,  though,  and  I'll  call 
round  and  see  you  after  your  committal,  and  pump  out  of 
you  all  I  want.  I  have  asked  Hickling  to  take  the  brief. 

28* 


322  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

He's  a  terrible  fellow  with  a  jury,  and  he'll  show  off  Free- 
ling  and  your  worthy  cousin  in  their  trne  colors." 

Severne  and  John  Holmes  said  little,  as  it  was  very  evi- 
dent that  Mr.  Wickham  knew  all  about  the  case,  and  pre- 
ferred hearing  himself  talk  to  listening  to  them.  Severne 
expressed  his  readiness  to  go  at  once  before  the  magistrate ; 
and  Mr.  Wickham  calling  a  carriage,  went  with  them  to  the 
office,  a  few  squares  distant. 

"  My  dear  Sir  James,"  said  Mr.  Wickham,  as  they  were 
ushered  into  the  magistrate's  private  office,  "  allow  me  to 
introduce  to  you  my  client,  Mr.  Robert  Severne,  son  of  the 
late  Robert  Severne,  Esq  ,  of  Severne  Hall,  Kent.  Mr. 
Severne  arrived  in  London  last  night  from  a  circumnaviga- 
ting tour  of  the  earth,  and  learns  that  a  warrant  has  been 
issued  for  his  apprehension  on  the  charge  of  having  mur- 
dered his  wife.  The  warrant  has  not  been  served,  but  he  is 
desirous  of  being  at  once  committed  for  trial." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Sir  James.  "I  issued  the  warrant  my- 
self on  the  affidavit  of  a  Mr.  Freeling,  an  American  gentle- 
man. I  trust  you  will  be  able  to  clear  yourself  of  the  charge, 
Mr.  Severne.  I  knew  your  father  very  well,  and  I  think  I 
must  have  seen  you  years  ago  when  you  were  a  boy.  As 
you  know,  my  action  was  based  altogether  on  ex  parte  evi- 
dence. I  am  glad  you  are  here  this  morning,  it  does  not 
look  as  if  you  were  guilty,  and  I  will  say,"  he  continued, 
with  great  kindness' of  manner,  "that  I  don't  believe  you 
are  guilty.  Of  course  I  shall  have  to  commit  you.  It  is 
just  what  you  wish  me  to  do,  if  I  understand  you  aright. 
I  will  do  all  I  can,  however,  to  render  your  stay  in  prison 
before  your  trial  as  comfortable  as  possible.  We  don't  often 
hear  of  persons  accused  of  murder  giving  themselves  up." 

Severne  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  asked  him 
when  the  trial  would  probably  take  place. 

"  There's  a  session  of  the  court,  at  the  Old  Bailey,  to- 
morrow week,  and  I  am  very  sure  that  Mr.  Wickham  and 
myself  can  get  your  case  put  on  the  calendar  for  an  early 
day.  In  the  mean  time  you  will  be  as  comfortably  situated 
as  possible.  I  will  write  a  note  to  the  governor  of  the 
prison,  and  request  him  to  allow  you  every  indulgence  con- 
sistent with  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  Here,  Johnson,"  he 
continued,  addressing  an  officer  who  stood  just  outside  the 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  323 

door,  "  go  with  this  gentleman  to  the  Honse  of  Detention 
and  deliver  him  to  the  governor,  with  this  note.  You  can 
allow  these  gentlemen  to  accompany  yon  if  they  wish  to  go." 

"I  presume  there  is  no  objection,"  said  Severne,  "to  his 
taking  me  first  to  my  hotel,  in  order  that  I  may  get  some 
clothes  and  give  my  servant  some  necessary  directions  ?" 

"  None  in  the  least.  Let  the  gentleman  go  to  his  hotel 
first,  Johnson.  Come  here,  I  wish  to  speak  to  yon." 

Sir  James  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  whisper  to  the  officer, 
to  which  the  latter  replied,  "Yes,  Sir  James,  I  understand." 
And  then  Severne,  again  thanking  the  magistrate  for  his 
consideration,  proceeded  to  the  carriage,  accompanied  by 
John  Holmes,  Mr.  Wickham,  and  the  officer,  and  was  driven 
rapidly  to  Morley's  Hotel,  where  the  whole  party  was  stop- 
ping. After  giving  his  servant  the  necessary  orders  rela- 
tive to  his  clothes  and  a  few  other  necessaries,  he  sought  out 
Lawrence  and  de  Hutten,  who  were  expecting  his  return. 
There  was  no  time  for  more  than  a  few  brief  words  of  com- 
fort and  assurance,  and  then,  with  a  cheerful  heart  and  coun- 
tenance, Severne  said  good-by  to  Margaret  and  Sarah.  The 
latter  could  not  restrain  her  grief,  but  Margaret,  though 
grave,  was  composed. 

"  I  know,"  she  said  to  him,  as  he  led  her  aside,  "that  you 
will  be  sustained  by  the  consciousness  of  innocence.  It  is 
sometimes  a  pleasure  for  us  to  suffer  for  the  right,  and  I  do 
not  believe  that  your  days  in  prison  will  be  altogether  sad. 
Remember,  too,  how  dearly  I  love  yon." 

"  I  will  never  forget  that,  dear  Margaret.  You  see  I  am 
not  sad.  I  would  not  avoid  the  trial  now  for  worlds.  You 
and  Sarah  will  come  and  see  me  sometimes  ?" 

"As  often  as  they  will  allow  us." 

A  few  more  words  followed,  and  then  Severne,  accom- 
panied as  before,  was  taken  to  the  House  of  Detention, 
Clerkenwell. 

Johnson  delivered  Sir  James's  note  to  the  governor ;  and 
the  latter,  looking  closely  at  Severne  for  a  few  seconds,  said  : 

"  This  seems  to  be  somewhat  of  a  peculiar  case.  I  have 
never  known  a  stronger  letter  of  the  kind  to  be  written  by 
any  magistrate.  I  think  I  can  trust  you ;  and  if  you  will 
give  me  your  word  of  honor  not  to  pass  beyond  certain 
limits  which  I  will  prescribe,  you  may  occupy  a  vacant  room 


324  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

in  my  part  of  the  prison,  and  have  such  food  as  yon  choose 
to  pay  for.  I  shall  place  no  restrictions  on  any  persons 
whose  names  you  give  me,  visiting  you  between  the  hours  of 
nine  in  the  morning  and  six  in  the  evening." 

Severne  expressed  his  thanks  for  these  favors,  and  gave 
the  required  promise. 

"Then  we  will  consider  the  matter  settled.  You  are  now 
therefore  an  inmate  of  the  prison.  You  can  use  the  room 
I  mentioned,  and  walk  in  the  corridor  fronting  it.  You  are 
not,  however,  to  go  farther  without  my  special  authority. 
That  authority  is  given  you  now  to  make  use  of  my  little 
garden  for  exercise  every  day  between  the  hours  of  six  and 
eight  in  the  evening.  Hodkins,"  he  continued,  addressing 
a  turnkey  who  had  been  listening  to  his  remarks,  "you  have 
heard  what  I  have  said.  Show  Mr.  Severne  to  the  vacant 
room  in  my  suite  of  apartments." 

The  room  allotted  to  Severne  was  a  large,  cheerful  one, 
with  a  high  ceiling  and  plenty  of  light.  The  windows  were 
barred,  but  they  looked  out  on  a  side  street,  and  the  view, 
if  not  a  very  brilliant  one,  was  far  more  so  than  could  reason- 
ably have  been  expected.  There  was  a  good  bed,  three  or 
four  chairs,  a  table,  and  a  carpet  in  the  room.  There  were 
two  large  closets,  one  of  which  contained  a  bath-tub,  and 
the  other  a  large  chest  of  drawers.  Severne  therefore  had 
every  reason  to  be  satisfied,  and  when  the  governor  came  up 
and  told  him  that  if  he  wanted  his  servant  to  remain  with 
him,  there  was  a  small  room  he  could  occupy  at  a  moderate 
expense,  nothing  was  wanting  to  make  his  condition  com- 
fortable. 

After  Mr.  Wickham  and  John  Holmes  had  gone,  Severne 
thought  over  the  circumstances  of  his  situation  with  more 
thoroughness  than  he  had  yet  given  to  them.  Although  he 
felt  strong  in  the  justice  of  his  cause,  he  was  aware  that  his 
adversary  was  utterly  unprincipled,  and  would  not  hesitate 
at  perjury,  if  this  crime  were  necessary  to  secure  his  con- 
viction. His  anticipations  in  regard  to  Freeling  had  been 
more  than  realized,  for  never  had  he  thought  him  so  com- 
pletely debased  as  his  present  conduct  showed  him  to  be. 
As  to  his  cousin,  the  heir-presumptive  to  his  property,  Sev- 
erne had  never  seen  him  ;  but  the  facts  that  he  had  entered 
into  combination  with  Freeling,  and  had  been  the  means  of 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  325 

propagating  scandalous  rumors  in  regard  to  him  soon  after 
his  wife's  death,  left  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  his  character. 
In  looking  carefully  into  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case, 
and  giving  full  credit  to  his  enemies  for  their  unscrupulous- 
ness,  Severue  could  see  no  cause  for  the  slightest  alarm  if 
tried  before  an  unprejudiced  court.  He  knew  that  a  great 
deal  depended  upon  his  judge,  but  as  his  trial  was  to  take 
place  before  a  court  constituted  by  the  civil  law  of  England, 
and  as  all  the  safeguards  which  protect  an  individual  in  a 
free  country  would  be  thrown  around  him,  he  had  no  fears 
as  to  the  result. 

That  evening  Mr.  Wickham  paid  him  a  visit  for  the  pur- 
pose of  conferring  with  him  in  regard  to  his  defense.  Sev- 
erne  referred  him  to  Lawrence  for  evidence  relative  to  the 
confession  in  F  reeling's  possession,  and  gave  him  the  book 
which  Margaret  had  found,  telling  him  to  use  only  such  por- 
tions of  its  contents  as  were  absolutely  necessary  to-clear 
him  from  the  least  suspicion  of  guilt. 

During  the  ten  days  that  elapsed  before  his  trial,  his 
friends  visited  him  so  constantly  that  it  was  rarely  the  case 
some  of  them  were  not  with  him  every  hour  of  those  during 
which  he  was  allowed  to  receive  them.  Generally  Law- 
rence and  de  Hutten  spent  the  morning  with  him,  and  John 
Holmes,  Margaret,  and  Sarah  came  early  in  the  afternoon 
and  remained  till  six  o'clock.  His  evenings  were  passed  in 
looking  over  the  many  books  brought  to  him,  and  in  talking 
with  the  governor,  who  either  visited  him  in  his  room  or  in- 
vited him  into  his  own  apartments.  The  yard  in  which  he 
was  permitted  to  walk  for  two  hours  every  day  was  not  of 
very  ample  proportions,  but  it  was  nevertheless  a  source  of 
amusement  to  him  to  tread  its  stone  pavement  and  look 
through  its  grated  gate  into  the  busy  street.  Altogether, 
his  prison  life  was  not  a  cheerless  one.  He  had  dear  friends 
who  sympathized  with  him,  and  one  to  love  him,  who  was 
far  dearer  to  him  than  his  own  life.  Never  before,  however, 
had  he  been  forcibly  restrained  of  his  liberty,  and  the  sen- 
sation of  being  a  prisoner,  of  being  unable  to  go  where  he 
wished,  even  though  he  might  not  wish  to  go  anywhere,  was 
inexpressibly  peculiar  and  disagreeable..  Had  he  been  pre- 
vented by  injury  or  disease  he  would  not  have  cared.  He 
had  frequently  remained  longer  than  a  week  in  his  own 


326  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

house,  busy  with  his  studies,  without  desiring  to  leave  it, 
and  there  was  no  particular  reason  now  for  wishing  to  take 
a  walk  with  the  crowd  that  day  after  day  hurried  past  his 
windows,  except  the  inability  to  do  so.  Like  mankind  in 
general,  he  sighed  for  that  which  was  beyond  his  reach. 
However,  the  ten  days  fled  by  rapidly  enough.  Margaret 
and  Sarah  had  paid  their  last  visit  to  him,  and  had  left  him 
full  of  the  hope  that  ere  the  morrow's  sun  had  set  he  would 
be  free,  with  his  name  untarnished  and  his  honor  unscathed. 
Mr.  Wickham  had  had  a  long  conversation  with  him,  and 
had  announced  that  all  his  preparations  for  a  successful  de- 
fense were  made.  John  Holmes,  Lawrence,  and  de  Hutten 
had  spent  several  hours  with  him,  talking  of  everything  in 
the  world  but  the  trial,  with  the  charitable  intention  of  di- 
verting his  thoughts  from  a  disagreeable  subject,  and  Sev- 
erne  had  humored  their  fancy  from  pure  good  nature,  and 
had  gone  over  all  his  prairie  experience  for  John  Holmes's 
benefit.  And  the  governor  had  wished  him  good  night, 
paying  him  the  compliment  of  telling  him  that  never  before 
had  there  been  so  true  a  gentleman  in  the  Clerkenwell 
House  of  Detention  since  he  had  been  governor  of  it,  and 
expressing  the  hope  that  it  would  be  his  last  night  under  its 
roof.  All  was  ready,  and  Severne  went  to  sleep  with  as 
much  serenity  of  mind,  and  with  as  thankful  a  heart  to  the 
Father  of  all  things,  as  if,  instead  of  being  about  to  be  tried 
for  his  life,  he  were  on  the  eve  of  attaining  to  some  great 
good  fortune,  for  which  he  had  striven  in  vain  for  many 
years. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


THE    TRIAL. 


THE  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  air  was  crisp  with 
frost,  when  Severne,  Mr.  Wickham,  and  an  officer  got  into 
the  carriage  that  was  to  take  them  to  the  Old  Bailey.  Mr. 
Hickling,  the  celebrated  barrister  who  was  to  manage  the 
case  before  the  court,  and  Mr.  Seymour,  the  junior  counsel, 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  327 

had  already  paid  him  a  visit,  and  obtained  from  him  several 
facts  and  leading  circumstances  of  which  they  intended  to 
avail  themselves  in  the  course  of  the  trial.  Mr.  Hickling 
was  a  fine-looking  man,  with  a  bald  head  and  a  red  face,  the 
one  indicative,  perhaps,  of  a  constant  and  intense  employ- 
ment of  his  brain,  the  other  certainly  pointing  to  a  liberal 
use  of  old  port,  of  which  Mr.  Hickling's  cellar  was  well 
filled.  Mr.  Seymour  was  calm,  thoughtful,  and  with,  per- 
haps, a  better  knowledge  of  the  philosophy  of  law  than  his 
senior.  Mr.  Hickling's  experience,  however,  was  immense, 
and  his  memory  faithful  to  a  fault.  He  could  cite  precedent 
after  precedent,  telling  the  volume  and  page  with  unerring 
accuracy,  and  was  consequently  looked  upon  by  jurors  as  a 
wonderful  being,  who  knew  more  law  than  the  Lord  Mayor, 
the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  Judge  of  the  Admiralty,  the  Dean 
of  the  Arches,  or  any  others  of  the  notable  judicial  person- 
ages whose  privilege  it  is  to  sit  on  the  bench  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  and  before  whom  criminals  and  tipstaves  stand  in 
awe. 

Severne  got  into  the  carriage  with  a  light  and  elastic 
step,  without  fear,  but  with  a  feeling  of  joy  in  his  heart  that 
at  last  the  issue  was  to  be  made  between  him  and  his  enemies. 
A  few  short  hours  he  was  sure  would  see  him  at  liberty,  and 
then, — well,  he  would  not  consent  to  a  very  long  postpone- 
ment of  his  happiness.  He  would  have  thought  of  a  good 
many  things  besides  the  trial,  but  for  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Wickham  was  one  of  the  most  loquacious  men  in  the  world, 
and  kept  up  such  a  running  fire  of  words  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  Severne  to  concentrate  his  mind  a  minute  on  any 
one  subject.  At  last  they  reached  the  Old  Bailey.  "Now," 
said  Mr.  Wickham,  "keep  your  eyes  about  yflo.  In  ten 
minutes  after  the  jury  are  sworn,  you  will  not  know  who  is 
being  tried,  yourself  or  your  friend,  Mr.  Freeling.  I  hate 
to  be  hard  on  a  brother,  even  if  he  is  an  unworthy  one,  but 
there  is  no  help  for  it.  Ah,  here  are  our  friends,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  perceived  John  Holmes,  Lawrence,  and  de 
Hutten  about  to  enter  the  court-room.  "You'll  all  find 
seats  somewhere.  I  hope  you'll  enjoy  it  as  much  as  I 
will." 

Stopping  for  a  moment  under  charge  of  the  officer 
a  few  words  to  his  friends,  Severne  then  passed  into  the 


328  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

court-room,  and  took  his  place  in  the  dock  as  quietly,  and 
apparently  as  naturally  as  if  he  had  been  used  to  doing  so 
all  his  life.  As  soon  as  he  was  seated,  he  looked  around 
him  and  took  all  the  bearings  of  his  position. 

The  judge  had  just  taken  his  seat  on  the  bench,  and  the 
crier  was  opening  the  court  in  that  mixture  of  bad  English 
and  worse  French  which  all  Anglo-Saxon  criers  indulge  in. 
Barristers  in  their  wigs,  and  with  green  bags,  and  bundles 
of  papers  in  their  hands,  were  getting  ready  for  work.  Mr. 
Hickling  was  there,  the  table  before  him  almost  bare  of  doc- 
uments, while  that  at  which  Mr.  Seymour  sat  was  covered 
with  papers  of  all  sizes,  some  of  them  arranged  in  bundles 
and  others  scattered  about  as  if  without  order  or  system. 
Mr.  Wickham  was  talking,  first  with  one  and  then  with  the 
other,  in  a  low  tone  about  some  matter  which  appeared  to 
give  him  intense  satisfaction. 

At  a  table  by  themselves  sat  the  law  officer  for  the  crown 
and  other  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  and  in  close  consulta- 
tion with  them  were  Mr.  Freeling  and  a  gentleman  whom 
Severne  supposed,  from  a  certain  degree  of  family  resem- 
blance, to  be  his  cousin.  Mr.  Freeling  was  apparently  very 
calm  and  confident.  Severne's  eyes  met  his  two  or  three 
times,  but  neither  gave  any  sign  of  recognition.  , 

The  judge  was  a  burly,  gentlemanly-looking  personage, 
who  did  not  seem  to  take  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  the  case 
that  was  coming  off,  as  he  was  glancing  occasionally  at  a 
newspaper  before  him.  As  soon,  however,  as  the  crier  had 
finished  his  harangue,  his  lordship  folded  up  his  newspaper, 
and  a  few  words  of  audible  conversation  took  place  between 
him  and  the  senior  counsel  for  the  crown,  the  result  of  which 
was  that  a  jury  was  impaneled  without  much  difficulty.  The 
indictment  was  then  read  by  the  clerk  of  the  court.  It  set 
forth,  with  the  customary  legal  verbiage,  that  Robert  Sev- 
erne did,  on  the  twenty-ninth  day  of  October,  1847,  in  the 
City  of  London,  County  of  Middlesex,  feloniously,  and  with 
malice  aforethought,  administer  to  Francisca  Severne,  his 
wife,  a  large  quantity  of  corrosive  sublimate,  with  intent  to 
deprive  the  said  Francisca  Severne  of  her  life,  and  of  the 
effects  of  which  corrosive  sublimate  so  administered,  the  said 
Francisca  Severne  died.  In  answer  to  the  usual  questions, 
Severne,  in  a  firm  but  low  voice,  pleaded  not  guilty,  and  the 
trial  began. 


ROBERT    SEVERN E.  329 

The  law  officer  for  the  crown,  in  opening  the  case  for  the 
prosecution,  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  murder  for 
which  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was  about  to  be  tried  for  his 
life,  had  been  committed  over  eleven  years  ago,  and  had  been 
brought  to  light  mainly  through  the  exertions  of  a  foreigner, 
whose  sense  of  what  was  due  to  the  outraged  majesty  of  the 
law  was  so  great  that  he  preferred  to  vindicate  it  rather 
than  allow  the  criminal,  his  friend  and  employer,  to  escape 
the  punishment  which  justice  might  inflict.  The  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  he  continued,  has  lived  in  fancied  security,  in  the 
enjoyment  of  a  large  property,  and  would  probably  never 
have  been  called  upon  to  answer  for  his  crime,  but  for  the 
fact  that  Providence,  in  its  inscrutable  wisdom,  had  brought 
him  to  confess  his  guilt.  The  jury  would  not,  therefore,  be 
asked  to  strain  their  consciences  in  finding  the  prisoner 
guilty.  The  written  confession  of  his  criminality,  written 
and  signed  by  himself,  would  be  produced,  and  if  they  were 
satisfied  that  this  was  the  handwriting  of  the  prisoner,  it 
would  be  their  duty  to  convict  him,  unless,  indeed,  it  should 
appear  that  he  was  of  unsound  mind  at  the  time,  of  which, 
however,  he  did  not  think  there  was  even  a  pretense. 

But  this  was  not  all.  They  would  find  that  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  had  lived  unhappily  with  his  wife;  that  he  had 
been  heard  repeatedly  to  utter  expressions  of  hostility  to 
her ;  and  that  on  the  day  of,  and  previous  to  her  death,  he 
had  purchased  a  quantity  of  corrosive  sublimate  from  a 
chemist's  shop.  They  would  hear,  too,  from  a  most  respect- 
able witness,  that  before  she  died,  Mrs.  Severue  accused  her 
husband  of  her  death,  and  that  he  did  not  deny  it. 

It  might  be  asked,  continued  the  learned  gentleman,  if 
these  things  are  true,  why  was  not  the  prisoner  arrested  at 
the  time  and  brought  to  trial?  He  would  be  obliged  to 
reply  that  there  had  been  a  most  lamentable  disregard  of 
duty  somewhere,  and  he  could  only  attribute  it  to  the  pre- 
vious high  character  of  the  prisoner,  and  to  the  position  he 
occupied  in  society,  which  prevented  an  examination  on 
what  was  then,  he  must  admit,  a  mere  suspicion.  Taken 
alone,  these  circumstances  would  scarcely  have  secured  a 
conviction,  especially  as  at  the  post-mortem  examination 
no  corrosive  sublimate  had  been  found  in  the  stomach  of 
the  deceased ;  but  when  considered  in  connection  with  the 

29 


330  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

prisoner's  confession,  they  were  of  frightful  import.  As  to 
the  absence  of  the  poison  from  the  stomach  of  the  deceased, 
he  would  show  that  no  importance  was  to  be  attached  to 
that  fact,  as  at  the  best  it  was  but  negative  evidence.  In 
conclusion,  the  learned  gentleman  implored  the  jury  to  do 
their  duty  to  their  country,  and  not  to  forget  that  the  higher 
the  rank  of  an  accused  person,  the  more  important  it  waa 
that  if  guilty  he  should  suffer  the  punishment  the  law 
awards  to  his  crimes. 

When  the  counsel  for  the  crown  had  finished  his  speech,  a 
murmur  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  many  looked  as  if  they 
regarded  the  matter  as  having  only  one  possible  termination. 
Even  his  lordship  on  the  bench  looked  grave,  and  the  faces 
of  the  jurymen  had  become  much  more  solemn  in  their  ex- 
pressions. 

The  first  witness  was  a  chemist,  who  swore  that  on  the 
morning  of  October  29, 1847,  he  had  sold  to  Robert  Severne 
one  ounce  of  corrosive  sublimate.  He  had  recorded  the  fact 
in  his  book,  and  recognized  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  as  the  per- 
son who  had  purchased  it.  No  effort  was  made  to  shake  his 
evidence  by  cross-examination. 

Mary  Ross  next  testified  that  she  had  lived  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Severne  in  the  capacity  of  chambermaid.  Frequently 
heard  angry  words  between  the  deceased  and  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar.  Mrs.  Severne  frequently  told  her,  prisoner  had 
threatened  her  life,  and  that  she  was  afraid  he  would  mur- 
der her.  Was  present  when  Mrs.  Severne  died.  Deceased 
was  just  recovering  from  what  was  said  to  be  typhus  fever. 
Heard  Mrs.  Severne  say  to  prisoner,  "You  have  killed 
me." 

On  cross-examination,  it  appeared  that  the  angry  words 
were  always  from  Mrs.  Severne.  Never  heard  Mr.  Severne 
say  anything  unkind,  except  once,  when  he  told  Mrs.  Sev- 
erne that  her  conduct  was  highly  disgraceful.  Had  fre- 
quently found  that  Mrs.  Severne  did  not  speak  the  truth. 
Did  not  at  the  time  attach  any  importance  to  what  she  said 
of  prisoner's  threats.  When  Mrs.  Severne  told  the  pris- 
oner that  he  had  killed  her,  prisoner  said  he  hoped  not,  that 
he  had  tried  to  do  his  duty  by  her.  Always  liked  Mr. 
Severne,  always  found  him  gentlemanly  and  kind.  Mrs. 
Severne  frequently  had  gentlemen  to  visit  her  during  Mr. 
Severne's  absence. 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  331 

Dr.  Maxwell  testified  that  he  had  conducted  the  post- 
mortem examination  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Severne.  Found 
the  stomach  of  the  deceased  inflamed.  Such  a  condition 
would  have  been  produced  by  corrosive  sublimate.  Did  not, 
however,  detect  this  substance,  though,  at  the  instance  of  a 
relative  of  Mr.  Severne's,  he  had  examined  for  it. 

On  cross  examination,  the  doctor  testified  that  he  had  at- 
tended Mrs.  Severne  for  typhus  fever,  of  which  she  was  re- 
covering from  a  severe  attack,  when  she  suddenly  died. 
Was  sent  for  to  see  her  in  her  last  illness  by  Mr.  Severne. 
Had  found  poison  in  her  stomach,  strychnia,  and  the  symp- 
toms observed  before  her  death  had  all  indicated  that  she 
had  died  from  the  effects  of  this  substance.  Had  never  be- 
fore been  called  upon  to  testify  in  regard  to  the  case,  and 
had  said  nothing  about  the  matter  out  of  regard  to  Mr. 
Severue's  request,  who  believed  that  his  wife  had  committed 
suicide.  Dr.  Lawrence,  an  American  physician,  had  been 
present  at  the  post-mortem  examination. 

Dr.  Maxwell's  evidence  excited  a  sensation  among  the 
members  of  the  court  and  the  audience.  The  prosecution 
was  very  much  impressed,  they  were  unprepared  for  the  dis- 
closures of  the  cross-examination. 

Mr.  Bagley  Freeling  next  took  the  stand.  As  Mr.  Free- 
ling  was  the  most  important  witness  for  the  prosecution,  we 
give  his  evidence  in  full,  as  follows: 

"  I  know  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  Robert  Severne.  I  have 
acted  as  his  agent  for  several  years,  and  have  always  enter- 
tained a  high  regard  for  him.  I  never  had  cause  to  suspect 
him  of  the  crime  for  which  he  is  now  being  tried  till  just 
previous  to  his  departure  from  New  York  last  July.  Soon 
after  he  left  the  city,  I  had  occasion  to  send  my  clerk  to  his 
house  for  some  papers  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  examine. 
He  could  not  find  them,  but  brought  several  others  which 
he  thought  might  be  the  ones  I  required.  Among  them  was 
this  letter,  in  the  handwriting  of  the  accused,  and  with  his 
signature  to  it."  Mr.  Freeling  here  read  the  letter,  and  it 
was  handed  to  the  judge  and  the  jurymen  for  their  examina- 
tion. 

Mr.  Hickling  arose,  and  said  that  in  order  to  save  t  ne, 
he  admitted  the  letter  to  be  in  the  handwriting  of  the  pris- 
oner throughout. 


332  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

Mr.  Freeling  resumed  : 

"I  did  not  notice  the  paper  at  the  time.  And  soon  after 
my  clerk's  return  I  went  myself  to  Mr.  Severne's  house  to 
look  for  the  papers  I  wanted ;  I  did  not  find  them,  however. 
I  then  returned  to  my  office,  and  upon  looking  among  the 
papers  brought  by  my  clerk  I  found  the  one  the  contents  of 
which  have  just  been  given  in  evidence.  I  was  very  much 
surprised  when  I  read  it,  and  then  I  recollected  what  pre- 
viously had  given  me  a  little  uneasiness,  that  Mr.  Severne 
had  told  me  a  few  days  before  his  departure  that  he  never 
expected  to  die  a  natural  death,  and  that  he  was  haunted 
with  the  memory  of  a  great  crime.  I  also  recalled  to  mind 
that  when  I  was  last  in  England  I  heard  whispers  against 
him  as  being  suspected  of  the  murder  of  his  wife." 

Severne  started  with  surprise  as  Mr.  Freeling  gave  utter- 
ance to  the  falsehood  alleging  a  verbal  confession  on  his 
part.  Neither  of  his  counsel,  however,  looked  astonished. 
They  had  evidently  anticipated  that  Mr.  Freeling  would 
perjure  himself,  and  appeared  to  be  relieved  that  he  had 
disclosed  his  whole  game. 

The  cross-examination  was  conducted  by  Mr.  Hickling, 
in  the  most  bland  and  composed  manner.  After  several 
questions  of  no  very  great  importance,  the  learned  counsel 
asked  : 

"You  say  you  visited  Mr.  Severne's  house  after  your  clerk 
returned  to  your  office  ?" 

"I  do." 

"  Did  you  make  any  very  thorough  search  for  the  papers 
you  say  you  wauted  ?" 

"I  only  looked  on  the  table  for  them." 

"  Can  you  swear  that  you  did  not  yourself  take  that  letter, 
which  has  just  been  read  to  the  jury,  out  of  a  port-folio  that 
was  on  the  table  ?" 

"  I  do  so  swear.  As  I  have  said,  the  letter  was  given 
me  by  my  clerk." 

"Did  you  not,  when  you  went  to  the  house,  tell  the  house- 
keeper that  your  clerk  had  come  there  without  your  knowl- 
edge, and  that  he  was  unreliable  ?" 

"  Never." 

"That's  a  lie,"  whispered  John  Holmes  to  Lawrence. 
"  Mrs.  Smith  told  me  he  did ;  and  I  would  believe  her  before 
him  any  day." 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  333 

"  What  is  your  clerk's  name  ?"  continued  Mr.  Hickling. 

"  James  Collins." 

"  Did  he  ever  see  this  letter  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  kept  it  locked  up." 

"  What  is  Collins's  character  for  truth  ?" 

"  Excellent ;  he  is  one  of  the  most  reliable  young  men  I 
ever  knew." 

"  You  would  believe  him  on  oath  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"  I  object  to  this  kind  of  cross-examination,"  said  the 
law  officer  for  the  crown.  "Mr.  Collins's  character  has  not 
been  inquired  into,  and  the  questions  of  my  learned  friend 
are  altogether  irrelevant." 

"  I  differ  with  my  learned  friend,"  replied  Mr.  Hickling. 
"  The  relevancy  of  my  questions  will  soon  appear;  however, 
I  have  no  more  to  ask  relative  to  Mr.  Collins  at  present. 

"  Now,  then,  Mr.  Freeling,"  he  continued,  "  you  have 
sworn  that  you  did  not  open  a  port-folio  on  the  table  and 
take  that  letter  from  it.  Did  you  open  any  drawer  of  that 
table  ?" 

"I  did  not." 

"You  are  positive  you  did  not  open  the  upper  left-hand 
drawer  of  that  table  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  All  the  drawers  were  locked,  and  I  could 
not  have  opened  them  if  I  had  tried." 

"When  you  sent  your  clerk  to  Mr.  Severne's  house,  did 
you  tell  him  to  open  any  of  the  drawers  ?" 

"No." 

"  Did  you  give  him  a  key  which  you  said  would  open  the 
upper  left-hand  drawer  ?" 

Mr.  Freeling  looked  surprised  at  this  question,  and  be- 
came a  little  confused.  He  could  not  imagine  how  the 
knowledge  necessary  to  ask  it  had  been  obtained.  He  trem- 
bled a  little,  but  answered  "No  1"  in  a  loud  and  indignant 
voice. 

"Was  any  other  person  present  when,  as  you  have  sworn, 
Mr.  Severne  told  you  he  never  expected  to  die  a  natural 
death,  and  that  he  was  haunted  by  the  memory  of  a  great 
crime  he  had  committed  ?" 

"No  one  else  was  present." 

"  Did  you  never  try  to  induce  your  clerk,  James  Collins, 
29* 


334  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

to  make  an  affidavit  that  he  had  heard  Mr.  Severne  use 
these  words  in  your  presence  ?" 

Again  Mr.  Freeling  trembled  and  turned  pale,  but  again 
he  answered  "  No  1"  with  an  angry  voice. 

"  Vefy  well,  Mr.  Freeling,  that  will  do.  By-the-by,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Hickling,  in  the  politest  possible  tone,  and  with 
an  affectation  of  having  forgotten  a  trifling  circumstance, 
"How  were  you  dressed  when  you  visited  Mr.  Severne's 
library  ?" 

"Really,  your  lordship,"  said  the  counsel  for  the  crown, 
"I  hope  this  style  of  cross-examination  is  not  going  to  be 
allowed.  Of  what  importance  is  it  how  the  witness  was 
dressed  ?" 

"  I  do  not  see  myself  of  what  consequence  it  is,"  said  his 
lordship.  "I  hope  the  time  of  the  court  will  not  be  taken 
up  with  irrelevant  questions." 

"Certainly  not,  your  lordship,"  said  Mr.  Hickling.  "I 
have  no  intention  of  consuming  the  valuable  time  of  the 
court,  but  the  question  is  important,  as  I  hope  to  show  be- 
fore I  have  done." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  his  lordship ;  "  I  have  confidence  in 
what  you  say.  Answer  the  question,  witness,"  he  continued, 
addressing  Mr.  Freeling. 

"  I  was  dressed  very  much  as  I  am  now,"  said  Mr.  Free- 
ling,  with  some  appearance  of  trepidation,  for  although  he 
did  not  perceive  the  drift  of  the  question,  he  felt  sure  there 
was  danger  in  it. 

"  In  a  coat,  and  trowsers,  and  shirt,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Did  you  wear  sleeve-buttons  in  your  shirt  ?" 

A  profound  silence  pervaded  the  court-room  as  this  ques- 
tion was  put.  Every  one  understood  that  it  meant  some- 
thing. Mr.  Freeling  grew  more  and  more  confused.  He 
did  not  apparently  know  what  reply  to  make,  for  he  was  un- 
aware of  the  extent  of  his  adversary's  knowledge.  He  took 
out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
face. 

"  Did  you  wear  sleeve-buttons  that  day  in  your  shirt  ?" 

"I  believe  I  did,"  he  at  last  answered. 

"I  observe  that  those  you  now  have  on  are  not  alike." 

"  I  lost  one  before  I  left  New  York,  and  was  unable  to 
match  it." 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  335 

"Ah,  yes*.    Is  this  the  one  you  lost,  Mr.  Freeling?" 

"Yes,  that  is  the  one,"  he  answered.  "I  do  not  know, 
however,  what  you  are  doing  with  it." 

"  If  you  will  remain  in  the  court-room  a  few  moments  you 
will  ascertain.  I  would  like  your  lordship  and  the  jury  to 
examine  that  button,  and  to  compare  it  with  the  one  in  the 
witness's  left  sleeve,"  continued  Mr.  Hickling. 

"Remove  the  button  from  your  left  sleeve,  witness,  and 
let  me  see  it,"  said  his  lordship. 

Mr.  Freeling  tremblingly  took  out  the  button,  and  it, 
with  the  other,  were  carefully  examined  by  the  judge  and 


"Now,  Mr.  Freeling,  I  believe  I  have  done  with  you  for 
the  present,"  said  Mr.  Hickling. 

"The  case  for  the  prosecution  is  closed,"  said  the  counsel 
for  the  government. 

Mr.  Hickling  opened  for  the  defense.  He  said  that  for 
more  than  ten  years  the  accused  had  been  content  to  bear 
the  suspicion  of  having  committed  a  heinous  crime,  rather 
than  cast  odium  upon  the  name  of  his  late  wife.  The  time 
had  come,  however,  when  it  was  no  longer  possible  for  him 
to  do  so  without  sacrificing  other  interests  besides  his  own, 
and  he  intended  to  vindicate  himself  once  and  forever  from 
the  foul  aspersion  which  had  been  thrown  upon  him.  The 
counsel  for  the  prosecution  had  endeavored  to  make  the 
most  of  their  case.  It  was  their  duty  to  do  all,  so  long  as 
there  was  reasonable  ground  for  a  suspicion  of  guilt.  Their 
case  had,  however,  utterly  broken  down.  It  had  been  shown 
by  their  own  witness,  Mary  Ross,  that  the  accused  had  been 
a  kind  husband;  by  their  own  witness,  Dr.  Maxwell,  that 
the  deceased  had  died  from  the  effects  of  a  large  dose  of 
strychnia;  and  by  their  own  witness,  Mr.  Freeling,  —  well, 
he  would  not  say  now  what  had  been  shown  by  this  witness, 
the  court  and  jury  would  discover  for  themselves  before 
long.  Without  taking  up  the  time  of  the  court,  he  would 
proceed  to  examine  his  witnesses,  and  first  he  would  call 
Ellen  Whiting. 

At  this  name,  Severne's  cousin  started,  and  Mr.  Freeling 
smiled  incredulously.  He  whispered  a  few  words  to  the 
counsel  for  the  crown. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  the  latter,  "  that  my  learned  friend  will 


336  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

call  in  vain.  The  woman  has  been  dead  several  years,  or 
we  should  have  had  her  as  a  witness  for  the  prosecution." 

"Call  Ellen  Whiting  again,"  said  his  lordship  to  the 
crier. 

"  Ellen  Whiting !"  roared  the  crier,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice. 

There  was  a  slight  bustle  near  the  door  of  the  court-room, 
and  a  little  old  woman  was  perceived  making  her  way 
through  the  crowd.  In  a  few  moments  she  reached  the  wit- 
ness stand,  and  was  duly  sworn. 

"Now,  Ellen  Whiting,"  said  Mr.  Hickling,  "tell  all  you 
know  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Severne." 

Mrs.  Ellen  Whiting  was  a  sharp-looking  little  body.  She 
took  off  her  spectacles,  wiped  them  on  a  red  silk  handker- 
chief, put  them  on  again,  and  glanced  complacently  around 
the  court-room. 

The  moment  she  detected  Severne,  she  made  him  a  very 
polite  curtsy.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well,  sir," 
she  said,  "  though  God  knows  it's  sorry  I  am  to  see  you 
here.  I  wish  you  well  out  of  it,  sir,  for  if  ever  there  was  a 
good  gentleman,  it's  yourself!" 

"  That  will  do,  Ellen  Whiting,"  said  his  lordship.  "  Tell 
all  you  know  in  regard  to  the  death  of  Mrs.  Severne." 

"I  know  a  great  deal,  your  lordship  and  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  and  all  you  that  hear  me.  I  was  nurse  for  Mrs.  Sev- 
erne when  she  was  ill  with  the  fever  just  before  she  died. 
And  Dr.  Maxwell  was  the  physician.  And  on  the  29th  of 
October,  eleven  years  ago  last  29th  of  October,  Mrs.  Sev- 
erne said  to  me,  'Ellen,  there's  a  powder  in  my  toilet-case 
which  I  wish  you  would  give  me.'  I  looked  in  the  case  and 
found  a  little  package,  which  I  opened.  It  contained  a 
white  powder.  I  asked  her  if  that  was  the  one  she  meant, 
and  she  said  it  was.  I  tasted  it,  and,  said  I,  How  bitter  it 
is  !  And  she  replied  that  it  was  very  bitter,  but  that  it  was 
a  powder  that  would  make  her  strong.  I  gave  it  to  her  in 
a  little  currant  jelly,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  she  had 
a  very  bad  fit,  and  then  she  had  another,  and  she  straight- 
ened out  on  the  bed  quite  stiff,  and  I  asked  her  what  it  all 
was,  and  she  told  me  that  Mr.  Severne  had  given  her  poison. 
And  said  I,  That  can't  be,  because  he  has  not  been  here  to- 
day. And  she  said  he  gave  it  to  her  early  that  morning. 


ROBERT   SE  VERNE.  337 

And  then  I  got  scared,  and  I  went  for- Mr.  Severne,  who  was 
not  well  himself,  because  he  had  been  sitting  up  with  her,  and 
I  told  him  what  she  had  said.  He  came  into  the  room  at 
once,  and  knelt  down  by  her  bedside,  and  said  she's  poisoned 
with  strychnia.  He  told  us  to  send  for  Dr.  Maxwell  and 
Dr.  Lawrence,  who  was  a  friend  of  his,  who  lodged  close 
by,  and  before  they  came,  Mrs.  Severne  said  to  him,  'You 
have  killed  me  !'  And  he  said,  'I  hope  not.  I  tried  to  do 
what  was  right  by  you.'  And  Mary  Ross  was  there  and 
heard  him.  .And  then  he  said:  'Francisca,  why  have  you 
done  this  ?'  and  she  said  she  was  tired  of  life,  and  that  she 
hated  him,  and  meant  to  have  him  hung  for  her  murder ;  and 
then  she  said  again,  in  a  loud  voice,  'You've  killed  me  1 
You've  killed  me  !'  When  the  doctors  came  she  could  not 
speak  any  more,  and  she  died  in  a  convulsion  soon  after- 
ward." 

"Did  you  ever  see  this  book  ?"  said  Mr.  Hickling,  hand- 
ing her  the  volume  of  Calderon  de  la  Barca's  poems,  which 
Margaret  had  found  in  Severne's  library. 

Mrs.  Whiting  took  the  book,  and  examined  it  very  care- 
fully for  several  minutes.  Then  she  returned  it,  and  said : 

"Yes,  sir.  I  know  that  book  very  well.  It's  a  Spanish 
book  that  Mrs.  Severne  was  very  fond  of,  and  when  she 
thought  of  anything  that  she  wanted  to  write  down,  she 
wrote  it  in  that  book.  The  morning  of  her  death,  just  be- 
fore she  took  the  powder,  she  told  me  to  throw  it  into  the 
fire,  and  I  went  to  do  so,  and  forgot  it,  and  I  have  not  seen 
it  since.  After  her  death,  Mrs.  Severne's  mother  got  all  her 
books,  and  I  suppose  she  got  this  one  too." 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  late  Mrs.  Severne's  hand- 
writing ?" 

" Oh,  yes,  sir!     I've  seen  her  write  often." 

"Are  you  certain  that  the  writing  in  this  book  is  hers  ?" 

"All  I  see  is  hers." 

"  Is  this  passage  hers?"  said  Mr.  Hickling,  pointing  to  a 
dozen  lines  or  so  on  a  fly  leaf. 

"Yes,  I'll  swear  that  is  her  handwriting." 

"I  will  read  it,  and  then  submit  the  book  to  your  lord- 
ship and  the  jury  for  examination." 

"  '  I  see  now  that  I  never  will  be  able  to  show  him  the  full 
measure  of  my  hate  while  I  live.  Women  have  died  for 


338  ROBERT    SEVERN'  E. 

their  love,  I  will  die  for  ray  hate.  Yes,  death  would  be 
pleasant  to  me  if  I  knew  that  he  would  die  also, — die  like  a 
dog,  on  the  gallows.  He  has  had  the  better  of  me  in  my 
life.  I  will  have  the  better  of  him  in  my  death.  A  few 
short  days  and  my  agony  will  be  over,  while  he  will  suffer 
in  prospective,  die  in  torment,  and  leave  behind  hitu  a  dis- 
honored name.'" 

A  death-like  silence  pervaded  the  audience  while  Mr. 
Hickling,  in  a  full  and  impressive  voice,  read  these  words. 
When  he  had  finished,  strong  men  drew  a  Igng  breath  of 
relieved  suspense,  and  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  mar- 
velous wickedness  of  the  woman  who  could  entertain  such 
fiendish  ideas.  His  lordship  looked  as  if  he  had  become 
satisfied  that  he  was  going  to  be  spared  a  disagreeable  duty, 
the  jurymen  exchanged  glances  of  astonishment  and  satis- 
faction, and  even  the  counsel  for  the  crown  look  pleased. 

The  cross-examination  of  Mrs.  Whiting  was  short,  and 
did  not  alter  the  tenor  of  her  evidence.  In  answer  to  a 
question  of  the  law  officer  for  the  government  as  to  where 
she  had  been  during  the  last  ten  years,  she  said  : 

"I  suppose  there's  no  harm  in  my  telling  all  about  it  now. 
When  Mr.  Severne  knew  that  I  was  aware  of  all  the  facts 
about  Mrs.  Severne's  death,  he  told  me  that  there  was  no 
danger  of  his  being  tried  for  murder,  and  that  he  did  not 
wish  it  known  that  Mrs.  Severne  had  killed  herself.  He 
said,  too,  that  a  great  deal  would  come  out  which  it  would 
be  cruel  to  give  to  the  world.  That  she  was  dead,  and  he 
wished  her  faults  to  be  buried  with  her.  He  gave  me  money 
then,  and  told  me  to  go  and  live  where  I  chose,  and  that  as 
I  had  been  a  faithful  nurse  he  would  support  me  while  I 
lived,  and  begged  me  not  to  tell  what  I  knew  about  the  sui- 
cide ;  and  I  never  have  told  it,  and  I  would  not  tell  it  now 
if  it  wasn't  to  save  his  noble  life." 

As  she  finished  these  words,  Mrs.  Whiting  took  out  her 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  removing  her  spectacles,  applied 
it  to  heu  eyes.  She  was  not  the  only  one  in  the  court- room 
affected  to  tears ;  and  one  enthusiastic  juryman  rose  to  his 
feet  and  said:  "My  lord,  I  think  we  have  had  enough  of 
this."  And  was  going  on  to  make  an  address,  when  his 
lordship,  with  an  affectation  of  harshness,  ordered  him  per- 
emptorily to  take  his  seat.  Severue  sat  in  the  dock,  his 


ROBERT   SEVERXE.  339 

lips  quivering  with  emotion,  but  giving  no  other  outward 
manifestation  of  the  feeling  within  him.  John  Holmes  had 
buried  his  face  in  his  handkerchief,  and  de  Hutten,  though 
he  tried  to  be  calm,  could  not  restrain  the  tears  that  flowed 
down  his  cheeks  as  he  thought  of  the  magnanimity  of  his 
friend.  As  to  Lawrence,  he  was  composed.  He  had  known 
all  this  for  years. 

Mrs.  Ellen  Whiting  left  the  stand,  and  was  succeeded  by 
Lawrence.  He  gave  a  full  account  of  the  death-bed  of  Mrs. 
Severne,  which  corroborated  the  statements  of  the  last  wit- 
ness, and  of  Dr.  Maxwell.  He  had  examined  the  remains 
of  the  poison  left  in  the  spoon,  and  had  detected  strychnia; 
as  to  the  corrosive  sublimate  purchased  by  Severne,  it  was 
bought  for  some  chemical  investigations  on  which  they  were 
both  engaged,  and  was  used  for  that  purpose  a  few  minutes 
after  the  purchase.  In  regard  to  the  supposed  confession, 
his  testimony  was  minute  and  to  the  point.  He  dwelt  at 
length  upon  Severne's  severe  literary  labors,  and  the  state 
of  mind  to  which  he  had  brought  himself,  and  then  related 
the  details  of  a  case  of  similar  character  occurring  in  his 
practice  at  the  same  time.  He  stated  that  Severne  had 
read  him  the  letter,  and  that  he,  Lawrence,  had  supposed 
it  was  destroyed,  as  he  had  suggested  and  attempted.  The 
cross-examination  led  to  no  other  result  except  to  strengthen 
his  evidence.  And  when  Lawrence  left  the  witness-stand, 
court  and  audience  had  evidently  made  up  their  minds  that 
the  last  doubt  of  Severne's  innocence  was  removed. 

But  Mr.  Hickling  had  not  yet  completed  his  case,  although 
he  could  have  rested  it  there  and  then  with  perfect  safety 
to  his  client.  There  were  two  more  witnesses  to  call,  whose 
evidence,  if  not  of  much  importance  to  Severne,  were  of 
very  great  consequence  to  Mr.  Freeling;  and  first,  John 
Holmes  was  placed  upon  the  stand. 

His  evidence  was  restricted  to  the  sleeve-button  of  Mr. 
Freeling's  shirt  which  this  gentleman  had  dropped  into  the 
drawer,  and  which  was  of  course  conclusive  in  regard  to 
the  fact  that  he  had  opened  it,  and  to  the  facts  connected 
with  the  finding  of  the  book.  The  cross-examination  was 
brief  and  immaterial ;  the  counsel  for  the  crown  were  evi- 
dently getting  tired  of  their  adviser.  Mr.  Freeling's  con- 
dition was  clearly  uncomfortable.  All  eyes  were  upon  him, 


340  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

and  all  waited  anxiously  for  what  was  to  come  next.  They 
were  not  kept  long  in  suspense.  "Call  James  Collins," said 
Mr.  Hickling. 

If  Mr.  Freeling's  position  had  been  disagreeable  before, 
it  was  infinitely  more  so  now;  and  when  the  crier  called 
James  Collins,  and  the  clerk  walked  into  the  witness-box  in 
obedience  to  the  summons,  he  grasped  his  hat  and  looked 
around,  as  if  meditating  escape.  It  was  but  the  action  of  a 
momentary  impulse  of  self-preservation.  He  saw  Mr.  Hick- 
ling's  eye  fixed  upon  him,  and  he  knew  that  if  he  attempted 
to  put  his  wish  into  execution,  he  would  be  at  once  arrested. 
He  therefore  replaced  his  hat  on  the  floor  by  his  side,  and 
endeavored  to  look  as  friendly  at  the  clerk  as  his  waning 
courage  would  allow. 

"Now,  Mr.  Collins,"  said  Mr.  Hickling,  after  the  oath 
was  administered,  "we  have  brought  you  a  long  way  to  tes- 
tify in  this  case.  Please  be  thorough,  but  as  short  as  pos- 
sible. I  think  we  shall  save  time  by  letting  you  tell  your 
story  in  your  own  way." 

"  I  am  clerk  for  Mr.  Freeling,"  said  Collins,  "  or  rather 
was  till  I  left  New  York  two  weeks  ago.  On  the  21st  of 
last  August  Mr.  Freeling  told  me  to  go  to  Mr.  Severne's 
house  and  get  some  papers  which  he  said  it  was  important 
for  him  to  obtain.  He  said  they  were  in  the  upper  left-hand 
drawer  of  the  library  table.  They  related  to  a  ward  of  Mr. 
Severne's,  as  I  learned  from  overhearing  a  conversation  be- 
tween Mr.  Freeling  and  a  man  who  came  to  see  him  that 
morning.  I  heard  Mr.  Freeling  tell  him  that  if  they  were 
found,  he  would  give  him  two  hundred  dollars.  I  afterward 
drew  a  check  for  that  amount  in  favor  of  this  man,  a  Mr. 
Jenkins,  and  Mr.  Freeling  signed  it. 

"As  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Freeling  told  me  to  go  to  Mr. 
Severne's  house  and  get  those  papers.  He  gave  me  a  key 
which  he  said  would  fit  the  lock  of  the  drawer.  I  went 
there,  but  I  was  so  closely  watched  by  the  housekeeper  that 
I  could  not  try  the  key,  and  I  came  away,  bringing  only 
some  blank  sheets  of  paper  with  me,  as  a  show  of  having 
got  what  I  came  for,  so  as  to  satisfy  the  housekeeper.  There 
was  no  writing  on  any  of  these  papers. 

"When  I  returned  to  the  office  and  told  Mr.  Freeling  of 
my  want  of  success,  he  said  he  would  go  himself.  I  followed 


ROBERT    SE VERNE.  341 

him  when  he  left  the  office,  and  saw  him  go  to  his  own 
lodgings.  I  waited  till  he  carae  out,  and  kept  close  behind 
him  till  he  entered  Mr.  Severne's  house.  It  was  now  quite 
dark.  I  got  over  the  garden-wall  at  the  side  of  the  house, 
and  by  climbing  up  an  iron  trellis  was  able  to  look  into  the 
library  window.  I  had  scarcely  got  up  when  the  house- 
keeper und  Mr.  Freeling  entered  the  room.  She  lit  the 
gas,  and  I  could  now  see  him  distinctly,  without  being  seen 
myself.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  he  took  the  key  which  I 
had  returned  to  him,  and  inserted  it  into  the  keyhole  of  the 
upper  left-hand  drawer  of  the  table.  He  opened  the  drawer 
and  took  out  of  it  a  small  tin  box  of  letters.  He  read  these 
through  carefully,  and  then  replaced  them  in  the  box,  put 
the  box  back  into  the  drawer,  and  locked  it. 

"  There  was  a  port-folio  on  the  table ;  Mr.  Freeling  opened 
it  and  took  several  papers  out  of  it.  One  of  these  he  read 
with  great  astonishment;  and  I  heard  him  say  'Good  God  !' 
After  some  time  he  put  this  paper  into  his  pocket-book  and 
left  the  room. 

"  Two  or  three  days  after  this,  Mr.  Freeling  asked  me  if  I 
would  swear  that  I  had  heard  Mr.  Severne  acknowledge  to 
having  committed  a  great  crime,  and  told  me  he  had  mur- 
dered his  wife,  and  that  he  had  the  evidence  of  it  in  his 
pocket.  I  refused ;  and  then  he  told  me  it  made  no  great 
difference,  for  that  Mr.  Severne  would  hang  anyhow,  and 
that  whether  he  was  guilty  or  not,  he  meant  to  hang  him. 
He  then  cursed  me,  and  threatened  to  turn  me  into  the  street." 

The  cross-examination  was  exceedingly  severe,  but  Col- 
lins did  not  swerve  a  hair's  breadth  from  his  story.  Mr. 
Freeling's  appearance  was  that  of  a  man  who  had  lost  all 
hope.  Still,  he  glanced  defiantly  at  Collins,  who  evidently, 
however,  was  in  no  fear  of  him  now. 

"The  man  is  a  thief,"  said  Mr.  Freeling  at  last,  unable  to 
contain  himself  longer.  "He  stole  money  out  of  my  safe." 

The  senior  counsel  for  the  crown  told  him  in  an  audible 
voice  to  keep  silent,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  forgotten  that 
he  had  sworn  to  his  good  character.  His  lordship  informed 
him  that  on  a  repetition  of  his  disrespect  to  the  court,  he 
'would  fine  him  heavily  and  commit  him  for  contempt. 

"We  have  nothing  further  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Hickling. 
30 


342  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

"  We  are  ready  to  let  the  case  go  to  the  jury  as  it  is,  with- 
out even  summing  up." 

The  law  officer  for  the  crown  then  rose,  and  said  that  he 
had  been  actuated  by  a  sense  of  what  he  considered  to  be  his 
duty,  and  that  still  acting  from  a  regard  for  what  was  right, 
he  desired  to  say  that  the  crown  had  altogether  failed  to  es- 
tablish a  shadow  of  a  suspicion  against  the  accused,  whose 
honor,  in  his  opinion,  was  as  free  from  blemish  as  that  of  any 
gentleman  in  the  kingdom.  He  hoped,  therefore,  that  the 
court  would  instruct  the  jury  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  acquit- 
tal. As  to  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  deceived,  he 
would  say  nothing  about  that  at  present,  as  doubtless  it  would 
become  a  matter  for  future  judicial  proceedings. 

His  lordship  stated  to  the  jury  that  they  had  heard  all 
the  evidence  for  the  prosecution  and  defense,  and  could  not 
avoid  being  struck  by  the  thoroughness  of  the  vindication 
which  the  accused  had  obtained.  There  was  not  a  jot  or 
tittle  of  proof  tending  to  fasten  the  crime  of  murder  upon 
him.  On  the  contrary,  it  had  been  shown  that  no  murder 
had  been  committed,  and  that  the  accused  had,  through  the 
purest  and  most  generous  motives,  endeavored  to  shield 
from  the  disgrace  attaching  to  the  crime  of  suicide,  a  wife 
who  bad  evidently  been  actuated  by  the  most  malicious  feel- 
ings toward-  him,  and  whose  life  had  very  clearly  not  been 
such  as  that  of  the  wife  of  an  English  gentleman  should 
have  been.  In  regard  to  the  chief  witness  for  the  crown,  he 
had  a  few  words  to  say.  This  man  had,  from  purely  per- 
sonal considerations,  perjured  himself  to  secure  the  convic- 
tion of  one  who  had  employed  and  trusted  him.  Why  he 
had  conceived  so  horrible  an  idea  was  not  now  very  appar- 
ent. There  was  a  motive,  however,  and  time  would  reveal 
it.  For  the  present  he  should  deem  it  his  duty  to  arrest 
him  and  hold  him  to  bail,  to  await  his  trial  for  perjury.  His 
lordship  then  instructed  the  jury  in  regard  to  their  verdict, 
and  they,  without  leaving  the  box,  unhesitatingly  brought 
in  one  of  acquittal.  The  foreman  stated  that  he  was  au- 
thorized to  say  that  the  jury  had  arrived  at  their  present 
opinion  before  the  evidence  for  the  defense  had  been  fin- 
ished, and  would  have  returned  a  verdict  of  acquittal  with- 
out instructions. 

A  low  murmur  of  applause  ran  through  the  court-room. 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  343 

John  Holmes,  Lawrence,  and  de  Hutten  shook  Severne  by 
the  hand,  as  did  his  counsel,  and  many  other  gentlemen  with 
whom  he  was  not  personally  acquainted.  Even  the  counsel 
for  the  crown  came  to  offer  their  congratulations. 

"  Come,"  said  Severne  to  John  Holmes,  "let  us  drive  to 
Morley's  as  rapidly  as  possible;  we  must  not  forget  the  sus- 
pense our  friends  there  are  in." 

As  Severne  emerged  from  the  Old  Bailey,  free,  and  with 
the  heartfelt  regard  of  all  good  men  who  had  witnessed  the 
trial,  his  unworthy  cousin  slunk  out  of  a  side  door,  vainly 
endeavoring  to  escape  the  indignant  glances  of  the  crowd, 
and  Mr.  Freeling  was  escorted  out  by  a  stoat  officer,  who 
evidently,  if  an  opinion  could  be  formed  from  his  face,  per- 
formed his  duty  with  the  consciousness  that  it  was  a  right- 
eous one.  It  was  not  long  before  the  perjured  witness,  un- 
able to  find  bail,  was  occupying  a  cell  in  the  same  prison 
which  Severne  had  left  a  few  hours  previously. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN    WHICH    SEVERNE     HAS    MOST   OF   THE   CONVERSATION    TO    HIMSELF. 

NEVER  was  there  a  happier  party  than  that  assembled  at 
Morley's  that  evening.  John  Holmes  had  made  prepara- 
tions for  celebrating  the  event  of  the  day  by  a  dinner,— 
a  family  dinner,  as  he  called  it.  Everybody  was  in  the  best 
possible  spirits,  and  when  the  feast  was  over,  Margaret  and 
Sarah  still  lingered  at  the  table,  loth  to  retire  from  the  room, 
even  though  there  were  evident  signs  that  a  combined  fumi- 
gatory  movement  was  about  being  begun. 

"You  don't  want  us  to  leave,  I  am  sure  ?"  said  Margaret, 
imploringly,  to  Severne.    "  Neither  Sarah  nor  I  mind  smoke 
in  the  least.     I  was  brought  up  to  like  it,  and  Sarah  h 
become  thoroughly  used  to  it." 

"  Want  you  to  leave  us  ?   Of  course  not.    I  would  rather 


344  ROBERT    SEVERNK. 

dispense  with  the  cigars  than  have  you  go.  Besides,  I  have 
something  to  say,  as  soon  as  we  can  get  rid  of  the  servants, 
which  I  wish  yon  both  to  hear." 

All  objected  to  the  ladies  vacating  the  room.  "  It  was 
a  family  gathering,  and  there  was  to  be  no  absurd  formality," 
John  Holmes  said.  So  Margaret1  and  Sarah,  making  it  a 
condition  of  their  stay  that  the  four  gentlemen  present 
should  smoke  as  much  as  they  liked,  and  the  four  gentlemen 
inwardly  resolving  that  they  would  not  avail  themselves  of 
the  privilege  to  a  very  great  extent,  an  arrangement  highly 
satisfactory  to  all  parties  was  arrived  at. 

Of  course  all  the  points  of  the  trial  were  freely  discussed, 
and  none  gave  more  general  satisfaction,  after  that  of  Sev- 
erne's  .acquittal,  than  the  signal  discomfiture  which  Mr. 
Freeling  had  met. 

The  servants  had  been  dismissed.  John  Holmes  con- 
tinued to  occupy  the  head  of  the  table,  Severne  sat  on  his 
right  and  de  Hutteu  on  his  left,  Margaret  sat  next  to  Sev- 
erne, and  Sarah  occupied  the  seat  next  to  de  Hutten,  while 
Lawrence  was  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 

"We  are  all  together  now,"  said  Severne,  "and  the  duty 
which  I  owe  you  cannot  be  performed  on  a  more  suitable 
occasion  than  this.  You  have  adhered  faithfully  to  me 
when  appearances  were  adverse,  and  when  you  had  nothing 
to  justify  your  friendship  but  your  knowledge  of  my  gen- 
eral character,  and  the  consciousness  springing  from  the  ex- 
amination of  your  own  hearts  that  you  would  not  have  been 
guilty  of  the  foul  crime  laid  to  my  charge.  The  pure  and 
honest-minded  are  always  slow  to  suspect  those  of  dishonor 
.whose  lives  have  always,  to  their  knowledge,  been  above 
reproach ;  while  the  low,  the  mean,  and  the  false  among 
mankind  are  the  first  to  raise  an  outcry  against  one  whose 
high  position  they  envy,  and  in  rejoicing  over  whose  fall,  they 
hope  to  convince  the  world  of  their  own  upright  and  truthful 
bearing.  Through  all  my  troubles  you  have  never  asked  for 
an  explanation,  and  I  have  felt  that  the  attempt  to  offer  one 
would  be  an  insult  to  your  artless  and  lofty  friendship  which 
I  vshould  be  the  last  one  to  proffer.  In  the  hour  of  triumph, 
however,  when  every  vestige  of  suspicion  of  my  integrity 
has  disappeared,  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  withhold  from 
you  a  knowledge  of  the  facts  which  justified  me  in  my 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  345 

course,  and  in  the  existence  of  which,  though  ignorant  of 
their  exact  character,  you  had  the  most  boundless  faith. 
You  have  a  right  to  know  all,  and  though  I  am  sure  it  is 
one  that  you  would  never  claim,  it  is  none  the  less  my  duty 
to  insist  on  giving  it." 

"My  dear  Severne,"  said  John  Holmes,  "I  do  but  give 
utterance  to  the  feelings  of  all  of  us  when  I  tell  you  that 
any  such  revelation  as  that  you  mention  can  only  give  you 
pain,  and  that  we  therefore  neither  desire  nor  expect  it. 
We  need  nothing  to  convince  us  of  your  thorough  single- 
ness of  heart,  and  fidelity  to  all  that  is  right." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?"  said  Severne,  turning  to  Margaret, 
who  sat  silently  by  his  side. 

.  "Tell  them,"  she  replied,  while  her  face  was  illumined 
with  the  wonderful  beauty  which  swept  over  it,  like  the  sun- 
light over  a  fair  landscape,  whenever  she  was  moved  by  a 
noble  emotion.  "Tell  them.  They  will  never  be  able 
otherwise  to  comprehend  the  full  measure  of  your  honor 
and  unselfishness." 

He  smiled,  as  he  replied  :  "I  will  do  so,  but  not  with  that 
expectation.  However,  if  yon  all  like  me  better  after  you 
have  heard  what  I  have  to  say,  I  shall  not  complain."  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hand  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  abstract 
his  thoughts  from  what  was  passing  around  him,  and  then, 
amid  the  unbroken  silence  of  all,  thus  told  the  story  of  his 
life. 

ROBERT  SEVERNE'S  STORY. 

"  I  pass  over  the  events  of  my  early  life,  which  did  not 
differ  materially  from  those  which  occur  in  the  career  of 
most  young  men  reared  in  affluence  with  no  predilection  for 
dissipation  and  fashionable  society,  but  with  a  strong  bias 
toward  literature  and  science.  I  went  through  Oxford  cred- 
itably, but  as  I  had  no  very  great  liking  for  mathematics, 
preferring,  instead,  the  natural  sciences,  I  did  not  contend 
for  the  honors  of  a  double  first. 

"I  was  on  my  way  home,  with  the  world  before  me.    I  had 
determined,  while  1  sat  in  the  railway  carriage,  the  course  I 
intended  to  pursue.     I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  G 
many  and  spend  several  years  in  attendance  upon  the  um- 

30* 


3iC>  K-OUKKT    SEVEKXE. 

versities  there,  and  then  returning,  live  upon  the  small  fortune 
which  I  had  inherited  from  my  mother.  My  father's  house, 
I  was  afraid,  would  not  prove  a  very  pleasant  residence  for 
me.  He  had  recently  married  a  second  time,  and  from  what 
I  had  seen  of  his  wife  I  was  satisfied  she  would  not  beacon- 
genial  step-mother.  She  was  a  Spanish  woman,  the  widow 
of  a  gentleman  who  had  been  in  the  diplomatic  service,  and 
who  had  married  her  at  the  Spanish  Court.  She  appeared 
to  think  of  nothing  but  pleasure,  and  had  entirely  changed 
the  character  which  Severne  Hall  had  borne  for  so  many 
years  as  the  residence  of  a  sedate  and  quiet  gentleman. 

"  I  was  my  father's  only  child,  and  was  consequently  the 
heir  to  his  estate,  which  was  quite  large.  I  was  therefore  a 
person  of  some  consequence  in  my  step-mother's  eyes.  We 
had  seen  but  little  of  each  other,  and  1  might  have  liked  her 
had  I  not  perceived  that  she  was  given  so  thoroughly  to  her 
own  selfish  pleasures  as  to  neglect  all  the  duties  which  her 
married  vows  imposed  upon  her.  I  saw  that  she  preferred 
the  society  of  every  man  about  her  to  that  of  her  husband ; 
and  one  evening,  as  I  was  in  the  conservatory,  I  unavoidably 
overheard  her  carrying  on  an  intrigue  with  a  guest  who 
passed  for  her  husband's  friend.  I  received  all  her  advances 
therefore  with  a  coldness  which  I  did  not  affect  to  conceal. 
She  saw  that  I  did  not  like  her,  but  she  seemed  determined 
to  return  good  for  evil,  and  made  me  more  than  ever  before, 
the  unwilling  recipient  of  her  favors.  She  overlooked  no- 
thing that  could  conduce  to  my  comfort,  and  showed  me 
many  graceful  instances  of  apparent  kindness,  which,  if  I 
had  not  been  convinced  were  not  the  offspring  of  a  disinter- 
ested heart,  would  have  won  me  completely  to  her  side.  I 
could  not  forget,  however,  that  I  knew  her  to  be  false  and 
depraved,  and  I  continued  to  avoid  her  as  much  as  possible. 

"  She  had  a  daughter  by  her  first  husband,  whom  I  had 
never  seen,  but  who  was  spoken  of  by  those  who  knew  her 
as  a  miracle  of  beauty  and  cleverness.  When  I  had  paid 
my  last  visit  to  Severne  Hall,  she  was  absent,  but  her  mother 
did  not  fail  to  tell  me  of  her  daughter's  perfections  at  every 
opportunity,  until  her  praises,  and  those  of  others  who  had 
seen  the  young  lady,  my  father  among  them,  would  have  led 
me  to  look  forward  to  meeting  her  with  no  small  degree  of 
pleasure  had  I  not  been  told  by  my  father,  and  had  I  not 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  T  1  7 

understood  from  his  wife's  conduct,  that  they  had  set  their 
hearts  upon  making  a  marriage  between  us. 

"I  thought  of  all  these  things  as  I  sat  in  the  railway 
carriage  on  my  way  home,  and  therefore  it  was  that  I  de- 
termined to  remove  myself  from  associations  which  I  was 
convinced  would  be  unpleasant. 

"  It  was  dark  when  the  train  stopped  at  the  station  nearest 
Severne  Hall.  I  alighted,  and  was  looking  out  for  a  con- 
veyance to  the  house,  when  1  was  arrested  by  my  father's 
coachman,  who  told  me  that  Mrs.  Severne  had  expected  me 
that  evening,  and  had  sent  the  carriage.  Here  was  another 
instance  of  her  forethought  for  me.  I  had  not  written  to 
say  I  was  coming  that  day,  and  she  must  have  calculated 
the  time  of  my  return  for  herself. 

"As  the  carriage  approached  the  house,  I  saw  that  there 
was  a  large  assemblage  of  persons  present.  The  drawing- 
rooms  and  grounds  were  brilliantly  lighted  qp,  and  music 
and  conversation  were  heard  on  all  sides.  In  answer  to  my 
inquiries,  the  footman  told  me  that  Miss  Sefton,  Mrs.  Sev- 
erne's  daughter,  had  arrived  a  few  days  previously,  and  that 
the  ball  was  in  her  honor.  I  ordered  the  carriage  to  be 
driven  up  to  a  side  door,  and  endeavored  to  make  rny  way 
to  my  own  room  unperceived.  Mrs.  Severne,  however,  was 
on  the  watch  for  me.  She  came  into  the  hall,  greeted  me  in 
the  most  affectionate  manner,  and  telling  me  that  the  ball 
was  as  much  in  my  honor  as  Francisca's,  begged  me  not  to 
disappoint  her  and  her  daughter  by  refusing  them  the 
pleasure  they  would  derive  from  my  presence.  It  would 
have  been  churlish  in  me  to  refuse,  so  I  promised,  and 
hurrying  to  my  chamber,  dressed  myself  and  descended  to 
the  drawing-rooms. 

"  Mrs.  Severne  and  my  father  met  me  at  the  door.  The 
latter  was  of  course  glad  to  see  me.  He  had.  always  been 
kind  and  indulgent  to  me,  and  I  felt  that  I  owed  him  a  great 
deal  for  the  opportunities  he  had  given  me  for  improving 
my  mind,  when  it  would  have  been  more  agreeable  to  him  to 
have  had  me  at  home  during  the  many  lonely  years  he  had 
passed  there. 

"  Mrs.  Severne  at  once  dropped  her  husband's  arm,  and 
taking  mine,  told  me  that  Francisca  was  very  anxious  to 
see  me,  and  that  I  must  go  at  once  and  be  presented  to  her. 


348  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

We  found  her  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  admirers,  but  as 
soon  as  I  was  introduced  she  devoted  herself  so  exclusively 
to  me  that  they  all  disappeared,  and  I  was  left  alone  with 
her  and  her  mother.  She  was  certainly  very  beautiful.  Her 
eyes  and  hair  were  black,  and  her  complexion,  though  dark, 
was  clear  and  brilliant;  and  yet  her  beauty  was  not  the  kind 
I  most  admired.  It  was  too  dazzling,  too  bold,  for  the  ideal 
of  female  loveliness  I  had  formed  in  my  mind.  There  was 
nothing  subdued  about  it,  nothing  quiet,  nothing  of  that 
calm  and  gentle  spiritualism  which  my  ideal  possessed,  and 
which  reveals  so  charmingly,  and  yet  so  truthfully,  the  ^no- 
bility and  heroism  of  the  soul. 

"It  was  not  long,  however,  before  I  felt  the  influence  of 
her  spell.  Her  manners  were  graceful  and  winning;  she 
showed  that  she  had  been  well  educated,  she  expressed  her- 
self in  language  that  was  free  from  fault,  and  she  gave  utter- 
ance to  ideas  which  made  me  believe  her  to  be  a  paragon  of 
virtue.  I  had  never  mingled  much  in  the  society  of  women  ; 
those  I  had  been  thrown  with  were  of  the  most  common- 
place kind,  and  I  was  but  twenty  years  old.  Can  it  be 
wondered  at  therefore  that  I  lost  my  senses,  and  that  when 
she  asked  me  to  walk  with  her  on  the  lawn,  I  went  out  of 
the  hot  and  glittering  rooms  vain  of  the  distinction  that  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  that  brilliant  throng  was  on  my 
arm  ? 

"  She  treated  me  with  the  utmost  confidence,  told  me  all 
her  little  troubles,  appealed  to  me  to  be  her  friend,  begged 
me  to  remember  the  ties  that  already  bound  us  to  one  an- 
other. She  was  apparently  so  artless,  so  free  from  guile,  so 
winsome  in  all  her  ways,  that  I  wondered  why  I  had  not 
seen  all  her  goodness  in  her  face  at  the  first  glance ;  I  looked 
at  her  again,  long  and  anxiously,  by  the  light  of  a  splendid 
lamp  that  hung  over  our  heads,  and  that  lit  up  the  avenue  in 
which  we  walked.  She  was  very  beautiful;  I  could  not  ques- 
tion that.  But  I  did  not  see  the  expression  I  had  expected  to 
find.  There  was  a  want  of  harmony  between  her  face  and  her 
words  which  troubled  me.  It  was  unnatural  that  there  should 
be  this  want  of  accord,  and  I  was  annoyed,  as  I  was  and  am 
still,  at  all  incongruities.  Still  my  disappointment  was  not  of 
long  duration :  I  forgot  it  all  in  the  pleasure  I  experienced 
in  her  society;  and  when,  after  an  hour  passed  outside,  we 
returned  to  the  house,  I  had  become  her  devoted  admirer. 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  340 

"After  that  I  saw  her  daily,  almost  honrly.  We  took 
long  walks  through  the  woods,  and  along  the  beautiful  lake 
that  lay  hid  among  the  hills  not  far  from  the  house ;  we  rode 
through  the  paths  which  led  to  the  most  unfrequented  spots; 
we  read  out  of  books  we  both  liked,  and  we  did  many  other 
things  which  served  the  one  great  purpose  of  bringing  us 
together.  All  this  was  very  pleasing  to  Mrs.  Severne,  and 
I  saw  also  that  my  father  was  satisfied. 

"And  yet  I  did  not  love  Francisca  Sefton.  I  was  pleased 
with  her,  and  felt  lonely  if  I  was  not  almost  constantly  in 
her  society.  I  never  thought  of  marrying  her,  and  therefore 
when  my  father  one  morning  told  me  how  gratified  he  and 
his  wife  were  with  my  attentions  to  her,  and  that  they  had 
both  set  their  hearts  on  our  marriage  as  the  one  thing  need- 
ful to  complete  their  happiness,  I  received  the  information 
with  a  surprise  I  could  not  conceal,  for  I  was  not  conscious 
of  having  done  anything  to  warrant  the  belief  that  I  was 
attached  to  her  by  any  warmer  tie  than  that  resulting  from 
my  connection  with  her  as  the  daughter  of  my  father's  wife. 

"  However,  when  I  came  to  reflect  upon  the  matter,  I  was 
forced  to  admit  that  I  had  given  ample  grounds  for  the 
opinion  my  father  and  his  wife  had  formed.  Two  months 
had  elapsed — two  months  of  uninterrupted  association  with 
Francisea.  I  knew  she  liked  me,  and  it  WHS  possible  she 
entertained  a  stronger  feeling  still  for  me.  What  was  I  to 
do  ?  To  break  off  suddenly  iu  my  intercourse  and  go  away 
from  Severne  Hall,  would  be  cowardly;  to  remain  and  shun 
the  society  which  was  so  pleasant  to  me,  would  be  unjust  to 
her  and  myself;  to  keep  on  as  I  had  done,  without  knowing 
that  she  did  not  look  upon  me  in  any  other  light,  than  as  a 
friend  and  agreeable  companion,  would  be  dishonorable.  I 
determined  therefore  to  have  an  understanding  with  her,  and 
to  be  governed  accordingly. 

"  I  reflected  fully  upon  all  the  possible  contingencies  of 
the  interview  I  had  resolved  upon.  If  I  found  that  Fran- 
cisca's  feeling  for  me  was  no  stronger  than  mine  for  her, 
then  I  should  be  very  well  pleased,  and  we  could  continue 
the  companionship  which  had  been  so  agreeable  to  ns  both, 
till  the  time  came  for  me  to  go  to  Germany.  If,  on  the 
contrary,  I  found  she  loved  me,  there  was  but  one  thing  I 
could  think  of  to  save  my  honor  and  secure  her  happiness, 


350  ROBERT    8EVERNE. 

and  that  was  to  ask  her  to  be  ray  wife.  I  did  not  look  upon 
this  alternative  as  at  all  a  disagreeable  one.  I  had  a  high 
regard  for  Francisca,  I  believed  thoroughly  in  her  goodness, 
and  I  did  not  doubt  that  she  would  be  to  me  a  true  and 
faithful  wife.  It  would  be  my  duty  to  try  to  make  her  life 
a  happy  one,  and  with  God's  help  I  would  do  my  part  justly 
and  conscientiously.  Besides,  nothing  would  have  given 
my  father  more  pleasure.  He  had  often  mentioned  to  me, 
in  no  obscure  terms,  how  happy  it  would  make  him  to  see 
Francisca  and  me  married ;  and  as  to  her  mother — whose 
wishes  were,  however,  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  me 
— her  joy,  I  knew,  would  pass  all  bounds. 

"  So  one  evening,  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the 
hills  among  which  the  little  lake  was  almost  concealed,  I 
asked  Francisca  to  take  a  walk  with  me.  She  consented 
with  evident  marks  of  pleasure,  and  we  bent  our  steps  to- 
ward the  bank,  amid  the  foliage  of  which  we  had  so  often 
strayed  in  our  wanderings.  I  had  never  seen  her  look  more 
beautiful  than  she  did  that  evening,  as  she  walked  quietly 
by  my  side,  scarcely  raising  her  jet-black  eyes  from  the 
ground,  and  seeming  to  my  eyes  the  very  incarnation  of 
modesty  and  truth.  She  was  born  in  Spain,  and  had  lived 
there  till  she  was  sixteen  years  old.  The  warm  southern 
sun  had  left  its  impress  upon  her,  which  the  four  years  of 
her  residence  in  our  bleak  climate  had  not  been  able  to 
efface.  How  my  opinion  of  her  beauty  had  changed  !  I 
remembered  then  what  I  had  thought  of  it  the  first  time  we 
met,  and  I  wondered  how  I  had  ever  been  able  to  form  so 
erroneous  an  opinion  of  a  face  which  now  seemed  to  me 
almost  perfect  in  its  loveliness. 

"We  walked  on,  scarcely  speaking  a  word  till  we  had 
turned  an  angle  in  the  narrow  path,  which  brought  us  in  full 
view  of  as  much  of  the  little  lake  as  it  was  possible  to  see 
from  any  one  point.  There  was  a  rustic  bench  close  by  the 
water,  and  to  that  we  directed  our  steps.  We  sat  down, 
still  in  silence.  My  mind  was  too  much  preoccupied  to  talk 
upon  indifferent  topics,  and  she,  seeing  that  such  was  the 
case,  forbore  her  attempts  to  lead  me  into  conversation. 
The  water  almost  touched  the  hem  of  her  dress;  the  place 
was  deep  in  the  shadows  of  the  approaching  night.  It  was 
ominous  of  the  darkness  that  was  to  fall  upon  my  life,  and 
bury  it  in  gloom  for  so  many  years. 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  351 

"At  last  she  spoke  : 

'  Yon  are  very  silent  this  evening,  Robert.  Have  I 
done  anything  to  offend  you,  that  you  will  scarcely  speak  to 
me  ?' 

"'Nothing,'  I  answered.  'I  was  thinking  how  much 
longer  we  should  be  together.' 

"'Is  there  any  reason  why  we  should  part?'  she  said, 
looking  earnestly  into  my  face. 

'  You  know  I  go  to  Germany  in  a  few  weeks.' 

"  She  made  no  answer,  but  looked  down  at  the  water 
which  flowed  at  her  feet. 

"  '  We  have  been  very  happy,'  I  continued.  '  I  have 
never  passed  two  months  so  pleasantly  in  all  my  life  before, 
and  I  will  always  regard  you  as  a  dear  sister.' 

"  '  I  have  been  happy,'  she  murmured,  'but  I  cannot  look 
upon  you  as  a  brother.' 

"  'As  a  friend,  then,'  I  resumed ;  'and  when,  in  other  days, 
you  come  to  this  spot ' 

"'I  will  never  come  here  after  you  are  gone,' she  ex- 
claimed, interrupting  me.  '  It  will  have  no  charms  for  me 
then.' 

"  She  still  continued  to  look  down  at  the  water,  but  I  saw 
that  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

'"I  am  glad  you  like  me,  Francisca,'  I  said.  '  I  shall  go 
away  with  the  consciousness  that  I  have  left  a  dear  friend 
behind  me  who,  amid  other  associations,  will  not  altogether 
forget  me.' 

" 'Robert,' she  said,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion, 
'  do  you  wish  to  break  my  heart  ?' 

"Then  I  knew  she  loved  me.  I  told  her  that  we  would 
never  part,  and  taking  her  hand,  said,  that  if  she  would  be 
my  wife  I  would  cherish  and  protect  her  through  all  her  life 
and  mine.  She  laid  her  head  on  my  breast,  and  revealed 
to  me  how  dearly  she  loved  me,  and  that  there  could  be  no 
happiness  for  her  in  this  world  away  from  me. 

"  I  drank  in  with  a  wild  delight  the  words  of  love  she 
gave  me.  Already  I  felt  the  influence  which  springs  from 
the  consciousness  of  being  beloved  ;  and  by  the  time  we  had 
reached  home,  I  felt  that  I  loved  her  fondly  in  return. 

"I  led  her  into  the  drawing  room  where  my  father  and 
his  wife  sat  awaiting  our  return  before  going  to  dinner.  I 


3D2  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

informed  him  of  what  I  had  done,  and  received  his  blessing. 
Francisca  threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms  and  wept  for 
joy.  My  father  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  told  her  how  thank- 
ful he  was  that  his  prayers  had  at  last  been  answered.  We 
were  a  happy  party  that  night, — happier  far  than  we  ever 
were  afterward. 

"  Everything  went  on  well,  and  before  our  marriage  took 
place  I  had  become  so  warmly  attached  to  Prancisca  that  I 
looked  forward  to  the  day  that  was  to  make  her  mine  with 
emotions  of  unalloyed  pleasure.  Three  weeks  after  our  en- 
gagement we  took  the  vows  that  made  us  husband  and  wife. 

"It  was  arranged  that  we  should  spend  a  month  at  Sev- 
erne  Hall,  and  that  then  we  should  take  up  our  residence  in 
London.  This  plan  was  agreeable  to  both  Francisca  and 
myself.  She  had  never  lived  in  a  large  city,  and  was  anx- 
ious to  see  something  of  the  world  as  it  is  found  in  one  so 
vast  as  London,  while  I  was  not  only  desirous  of  contribut- 
ing to  her  happiness,  but  also  wished  to  further  objects 
which  I  had  in  view,  and  which  could  only  be  carried  out 
successfully  in  a  place  where  access  could  be  had  to  large 
and  complete  libraries.  Our  stay  in  the  country  passed 
without  the  occurrence  of  any  material  incidents,  till  the 
day  before  the  one  upon  which  we  were  to  take  our  depart- 
ure. Up  to  this  time  I  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  Fran- 
cisca's  conduct.  On  the  contrary,  her  words  and  actions 
had  been  uniformly  considerate  and  affectionate. 

"  I  had  been  fishing,  and  had  returned,  with  a  severe  head- 
ache, earlier  than  I  had  expected.  I  was  lying  down  on  a 
sofa,  which  occupied  an  alcove  in  the  library,  trying  to  get 
to  sleep,  when  I  heard  the  rustling  of  dresses,  and  the 
voices  of  Francisca  and  her  mother.  They  had  just  come 
into  the  room,  and  had  seated  themselves  in  the  next  alcove. 
I  paid  no  attention  to  them,  as  my  head  was  aching  vio- 
lently, and  I  wanted  to  be  quiet  in  the  hope  of  getting  rid 
of  my  indisposition  before  dinner.  I  gave  no  heed  to  their 
conversation,  and  they  had  been  talking  for  several  minutes 
without  my  hearing  a  word  they  said,  when  the  sound  of  my 
own  name,  spoken  by  Francisca,  struck  on  my  ear.  She 
repeated  it,  and  in  a  tone  of  the  utmost  contempt. 

"'You  think  I  love  him  ?'  she  continued.  'You  ought 
to  know  me  better  by  this  time.' 


ROBERT   SEVERN'S.  353 

"  '  You  did  love  him  once,  whatever  you  may  feel  for  him 
now,'  said  her  mother. 

"  '  I  never  did,  I  tell  you.  My  dear  madam,'  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  light  laugh,  '  I  have  been  too  apt  a  pupil  of 
yours  not  to  be  able  to  make  a  man  think  I  love  him  when 
I  really  despise  him.' 

"  Her  mother  laughed.  'There  is  no  use  in  your  getting 
angry  about  it,  Francisca,'  she  said.  '  I  only  thought  that 
if  you  did,  it  would  not  be  so  very  bad.  He  will  have  a 
large  fortune  at  his  father's  death,  and  the  old  fool  cannot 
live  much  longer.  He  told  me  this  morning  that  Sir  Wil- 
loughby  Hatfield  had  detected  an  organic  disease  of  .the 
heart.  You  know  he  can  leave  me  very  little,  and  your  for- 
tune is  not  enough  to  enable  you  to  live  as  yon  would  wish. 
If  you  do  not  love  your  husband,  at  any  rate,  try  to  keep  on 
good  terms  with  him.' 

"  '  It's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  treat  him  civilly,'  she  an- 
swered. '  I  have  always  had  the  most  thorough  contempt 
for  him.  I  hate  men  who  are  what  are  called  learned,  and 
who  are  constantly  talking  of  books.  I  ought  not  to  have 
married.  I  have  made  a  slave  of  myself;  but  when  I  get  to 
London  I  shall  make  a  bold  strike  for  freedom.  I  think, 
though,  you  ought  to  give  me  credit  for  being  a  most  duti- 
ful daughter,  whatever  I  may  be  as  a  wife.' 

"  I  could  bear  no  more.  I  rose  from  the  sofa  and  stood 
before  them.  'I  have  heard  all,'  I  said.  'I  know  how 
thoroughly  wicked  and  depraved  you  both  are.  I  knew 
your  character  long  ago,'  I  continued,  addressing  the  mo- 
ther, '  but  I  did  not  think  you,  Francisca,  were  as  vile  as 
your  language  shows  you  to  be.  You  have  deceived  me  for 
your  own  base  purposes.  You  may  reap  some  material  ad- 
vantage from  your  falsehood,  but  there  is  an  end  to  even  the 
appearance  of  love  between  us.' 

"  The  two  were  c.onfused  for  a  moment  at  being  detected 
in  their  iniquitous  schemes.  It  was  only  for  an  instant, 
however,  that  Francisca  was  deprived  of  her  presence  of 
mind,  for  she  came  toward  me  with  a  look  of  surprise  on  her 
face,  and  said  : 

"  •  My  dear  Robert,  what  do  you  mean  ?  You  must  have 
been  dreaming.' 

" '  No  '  I  answered ;  '  I  was  never  wider  awake  than  I  am 
31 


354  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

now.  I  have  been  lying  down  in  the  adjoining  alcove,  and 
have  heard  enough  of  your  designs  to  convince  me  of  the 
utter  corruption  of  your  nature.' 

"  She  looked  at  me  fixedly  and  anxiously  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  in  an  excited  mahner,  and  with  every  appearance 
of  feeling,  said  : 

"  '  My  God  !  Robert,  you  are  ill !  Ring,  mother,  for  assist- 
ance. Quick  !  quick  !  do  you  not  see  that  he  is  ill  ?' 

"  I  shook  off  her  hand  which  she  had  laid  on  my  arm. 
'  You  cannot  deceive  me  any  longer,'  I  said.  '  I  know  you 
now  for  a  wicked  and  heartless  woman.' 

'.'  She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  throwing  herself  on 
the  floor,  continued  to  sob  violently. 

"  '  You  have  killed  her !'  said  her  mother,  addressing  me. 
'  She  loves  you  with  her  whole  soul,  and  you  are  treating 
her  in  a  way  that  will  break  her  heart.' 

"  I  made  no  reply,  but  walking  away,  met  the  servant, 
who  had  come  in  answer  to  the  bell,  and  sent  him  back.  I 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  exposing  my  wife's  conduct 
and  my  own  shame  to  him,  and  thus  making  her  name  a  by- 
word ere  we -had  been  married  a  month. 

"  That  night  I  asked  my  father  to  give  me  a  few  moments' 
conversation.  I  saw,  as  soon  as  we  were  alone  together, 
that  he  knew  all  that  had  occurred,  and  I  supposed  his  wife 
had  been  beforehand  with  her  version.  I  inquired  if  such 
was  not  the  case.  He  replied  in  the  affirmative,  but  added 
that  he  did  not  believe  what  she  had  said,  for  that  he  also 
had  heard  their  conversation,  having  been  in  the  bay-window 
near  them  writing.  He  begged  me,  however,  for  God's  sake 
not  to  insist  upon  a  separation;  to  try  and  live  with  her 
while  he  should  live  ;  that  it  was  true  his  heart  was  seriously 
diseased,  and  that  the  physician  had  warned  him  against  all 
excitement.  'Remember,  too,  Robert,' he  said,  'that  she 
is  your  wife.  Do  not  expose  her;  try  to  reclaim  her;  she 
is  young,  and  may  not  be  beyond  the  influence  of  your  coun- 
sel; and  when  she  is  removed  from  her  mother's  control,  she 
may  do  better.  If  you  cast  her  off,  she  is  Tost.  I  shall  have 
a  heavy  cross  to  bear  likewise,  but  I  shall  do  so  in  silence 
and  secrecy.' 

"  I  heard  him  through,  and  resolved  to  follow  his  advice. 
I  went  to  Francisca,  and  offered  her  forgetfulness  and  for- 


ROBERT   SE VERNE.  355 

giveness.  I  told  her  I  asked  for  no  explanations,  and  I 
begged  her  to  look  upon  me  as  her  husband  and  friend,  as 
one  who  would  be  her  guide  and  protector  in  all  the  trials 
and  dangers  that  might  befall  her,  and  as  one  who  still  loved 
her.  She  listened  to  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  then 
threw  herself  into  my  arms,  and  implored  me  to  take  her 
once  more  into  the  heart  she  had  so  cruelly  bruised." 

Severne  ceased  speaking  for  a  few  moments.  His  friends 
were  full  of  sadness,  but  they  said  nothing.  John  Holmes 
wiped  his  eyes,  and  Sarah,  overcome  with  the  recollection 
of  her  own  acts,  which  were  recalled  by  Severne's  story, 
could  not  restrain  the  emotion  which  swelled  within  her. 
And  Margaret  ?  Her  face  showed  what  she  felt,  even  though 
-she  shed  no  tears.  And  when  Severne  looked  at  her  anx- 
iously, almost  imploringly,  as  if  to  ask  her  sympathy,  she 
returned  his  glance  lovingly  and  proudly,  and  put  her  hand 
in  his  in  token  of  her  unchanged  love  and  trust. 

"I  may  have  been  weak,"  resumed  Severne,  "but  if  I 
was,  my  error  was  on  the  right  side.  I  reflected  that  she 
was  a  woman,  and  that  I  had  sworn  to  love  and  cherish  her 
as  my  wife.  True,  I  had  been  deceived;  but  did  that  fact 
release  me  from  my  vows  ?  If  she  was  faithless,  was  I  there- 
by justified  in  casting  her  off  without  making  an  honest 
effort  to  lead  her  to  the  right  path  ?  I  did  not  think  so, 
and  thus  it  was  that  I  once  more  gave  her  my  confidence, 
and  resol-ved  to  devote  my  life  to  the  attempt  to  make  her 
a  good  and  faithful  wife,  a  true  and  virtuous  woman. 

"  The  next  day  we  departed  for  London.  We  took  lodg- 
ings while  the  house  which  my  father  had  bought  for  us  was 
being  furnisl>ed  and  put  in  order  for  our  residence.  During 
this  period  Francisca's  conduct  was  everything  I  could  with 
it  to  be.  I  went  with  her  to  places  of  amusement,  and  gave 
nearly  all  ray  time  towards  endeavoring  to  make  her  happy. 
She  seemed  to  appreciate  my  attentions,  and  for  awhile  I 
hoped  that  all  would  yet  go  well  with  us. 

"  Six  months  had  elapsed  since  we  had  come  to  London. 
I  had  gathered  about  me  a  number  of  persons  whose  society 
I  liked,  and  Francisca  had  also  made  many  acquaiutances, 
among  men  and  women  of  excellent  position.  Our  means, 
were  ample:  my  mother  had  left  me  fifty  thousand  pounds, 
and  my  father  had  settled  a  handsome  sum  on  Francisca  at 


856  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

our  marriage.  We  were  therefore  enabled  to  live  not  only 
in  comfort  but  in  style. 

"Among  our  visitors  was  a  gentleman  whose  friendship 
I  valued,  because  he  was  not  only  correct  in  his  deportment, 
but  was  of  pleasing  manners,  and  endowed  with  talents  of  a 
very  high  order.  He  frequently  dined  with  us,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  conceal  his  liking  both  for  me  and  Francisea. 
With  her,  however,  he  never  lost  a  certain  gentlemanly  re- 
serve, which  did  him  great  honor.  Although  she  made  no 
secret  of  the  pleasure  she  derived  from  his  society,  I  never 
perceived  that  in  the  slightest  point  his  conduct  passed  be- 
yond the  strictest  limits  of  propriety.  He  was  an  American, 
and  it  was  from  him  that  I  obtained  the  ideas  of  the  United 
States  which  caused  me  afterward  to  make  that  country  my 
home. 

"  I  had  noticed  no  change  in  Francisca's  manner  toward 
me  in  all  the  time  we  had  been  in  London  until  one  evening, 
on  returning  from  a  meeting  of  a  learned  society  of  which  I 
was  a  member,  I  found  her  walking  her  chamber  in  a  state 
of  intense  anger  and  excitement.  I  inquired  kindly  what 
was  the  matter.  She  stopped  in  front  of  me  and  said,  while 
her  face  expressed  the  full  force  of  the  passion  she  felt : 

"  '  I'll  tell  you  what  is  the  matter,  Robert  Severne.  The 
matter  is  that  I  am  tired  of  keeping  up  this  sickening  show 
of  pretending  to  love  you,  and  I  intend  to  do  it  no  longer. 
I  hate  you,  thoroughly  hate  you  ;  always  did  hate  you,  and 
expect  to  do  so  till  I  die.  There  is  no  person  in  this  world 
whom  I  loathe  so  utterly  as  I  do  you  ;  and  I  never  would 
have  consented  to  the  slavery  I  have  endured  since  my  mar- 
riage but  to  please  my  mother,  who,  for  objects  of  her  own, 
m-ade  a  tool  of  me.' 

"  I  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of  my  senses,  but 
without  giving  me  time  for  reflection,  she  continued  : 

'"There  must  be  an  understanding  between  us.  I  am 
willing  to  remain  in  your  house  if  you  do  not  expect  me  to 
make  a  fool  of  myself  in  endeavoring  to  conceal  my  real 
feelings  for  you.  Reject  this  and  I  go  out  of  it  to-night  to 
a  place  where  1  will  be  allowed  to  do  as  I  please.' 

"  '  Francisea,'  I  said,  'if  you  are  not  mad,  I  will  answer 
you.' 

"  '  Mad  !'  she  exclaimed,  with  a  laugh  of  contempt.     '  I 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  357 

will  show  you.'  She  sat  down,  and  at  once  became  per- 
fectly  composed.  '  Now  I  am  ready  to  hear  what  you  have 
to  say.  ^  My  pulse,  I  believe,'  she  continued,  as  she  felt  her 
wrist,  'is  as  calm  and  slow  as  it  ever  was  in  my  life.' 

1 '  I  have  no  reproaches  to  make  to  you,'  I  said.  'You 
have  chosen  your  course  and  I  shall  acquiesce  in  it.  I  have 
endeavored  to  make  you  virtuous  and  to  gain  your  love,  but 
without  success.  I  shall  try  no  longer.  Still,  I  do  not' for- 
get that  you  are  ray  wife,  and  that  it  is  my  duty  to  treat  you 
as  kindly  as  I  can,  and  as  you  will  allow"  me.  It  is  impos- 
sible that  we  cau  live  together  in  future.  I  will  not  ask  you 
to  go,  but  will  go  myself.  I  will  see  that  you  want  for 
nothing ;  I  only  beg  you  not  to  destroy  your  reputation. 
As  to  all  else,  I  have  nothing  to  demand.' 

"  '  Very  well,'  she  answered.  '  That  is  sensible.  I  ac- 
cept your  terras.  Now  leave  me,  if  you  please.' 

"  In  regard  to  the  circumstances  which  led  to  this  in- 
terview, I  knew  but  little  till  the  volume  of  Calderon  de  la 
Barca's  poems  came  into  my  hands.  How  this  book  got  to 
my  library  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  after  Francisca's 
death,  her  mother  took  possession  of  all  her  effects,  and  I 
suppose  it  was  taken  to  Severne  Hall,  and  placed  in  my 
father's  library  without  attracting  especial  attention,  where 
•it  remained,  till  at  his  death  it  was  sent  to  me.  There  is  no 
title  on  the  back,  and  thus  I  never  noticed  it  particularly. 

"  In  this  book,"  he  continued,  taking  the  volume  from  his 
pocket,  "  I  find  a  full  explanation  of  the  motives  by  which 
she  was  governed,  and  the  most  bitter  expression  of  her  hate 
for  me.  I  will  only  say  in  regard  to  her,  that  she  states  that 
the  gentleman  whom  I  have  referred  to,  had  been  that  even- 
ing to  the  house,  that  she  had  asked  him  to  elope  with  her, 
and  that  he,  with  a  consideration  for  his  friend  which  has 
never  faltered,  and  a  regard  for  his  own  honor  which  has 
never  deserted  hiDa,  had  refused  her  infamous  proposal. 
When  I  tell  you  that  he  is  here  among  us,  and  that  his  name 
is  Edward  Lawrence,  you  will  bear  me  witness  that  what  I 
have  said  of  him  is  true.  I  never  heard  from  him  one  word 
of  this.  Even  his  love  for  his  friend  was  not  sufficient  to 
^make  him  break  his  word,  unwittingly  pledged,  to  my 
wretched  wife. 

"  I  remained  in  London  for  a  few  days,  making  prepara- 
31* 


3O3  ROBERT    SEVEUNE. 

tions  for  Francisca's  support  and  my  departure.  I  settled 
upon  her  all  the  money  1  had  inherited  from  my  mother,  ex- 
cept ten  thousand  pounds.  During  this  period,  she  followed 
strictly  the  line  of  conduct  she  had  determined  upon,  and  let 
no  occasion  pass  without  giving  me  to  understand  how  much 
she  hated  me.  Her  abusive  language,  however,  did  not 
deter  me  from  doing  what  I  had  resolved  upon,  or  make  me 
hurry  my  departure  by  a  single  day. 

"  Finally,  when  I  had  completed  all  ray  arrangements,  I 
took  my  leave  of  her.  She  merely  bowed  her  head,  with- 
out taking  my  hand  or  thanking  me  for  what  I  had  done  to 
insure  her  comfort. 

"I  afterward  wondered  if  she  was  insane  or  not.  So 
far  as  I  could  ever  discover,  there  was  no  cause  for  her  dis- 
like of  me.  I  had  always  been  kind  to  her  in  words  and 
actions.  In  fact,  the  more  I  showed  my  affection  for  her,  the 
more  she  seemed  to  concentrate  her  hate  upon  me.  I  thought 
it  would  be  charitable  to  attribute  her  conduct  to  mental  ab- 
erration, and  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  such  a  condi- 
tion existed,  but  the  effort  was  in  vain.  She  was  so  system- 
atic, so  calm  and  logical  in  her  judgments,  so  cool  and 
collected  in  her  demeanor,  that  I  could  not  in  my  conscience 
give  her  the  benefit  of  this  supposition.  I  saw  too  clearly 
that  her  conduct  was  the  result  of  bad  principles,  which  had 
been  instilled  into  her  from  childhood ;  that  the  art  of  de- 
ception had  formed  a  prominent  feature  of  her  education ; 
and  that  the  precepts  and  example  of  a  wicked  mother  had 
been  all-powerful  in  corrupting  a  heart  that  might  have  been 
naturally  good.  She  was  totally  devoid  of  all  sense  of 
honor ;  the  truth  was  not  in  her ;  there  was  no  generosity, 
no  confidence,  no  love.  She  knew  her  conduct  was  wrong, 
sh  ^admitted  it  to  me  on  several  occasions  ;  she  says  so  re- 
peatedly in  her  journal,  and  yet  she  willfully  persevered  in 
her  depraved  and  reckless  course.  She  cannot,  therefore, 
escape  the  condemnation  of  all  right-minded  men  and  wo- 
men. And  it  would  be  folly  in  me  to  affect  an  extenuation 
of  her  wicked,  her  very  wicked  behavior. 

"  I  went  to  Germany,  and  endeavored  to  seek  relief  from 
the  troubles  that  weighed  heavily  upon  me.  It  was  then 
that  I  first  met  de  Hutten.  I  soon  discovered  that  there 
was  solace  to  be  found  in  the  contemplation  of  the  laws  of 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  359 

onr  existence;  in  the  study  of  the  operations  of  the  mind  ; 
in  the  investigation  of  those  works  of  God  which  teach  us 
both  our  littleness  and  our  greatness  ;  and  in  the  considera- 
tion of  those  learned  treatises  which  the  great  minds  of  past 
ages  have  given  to  us.  1  was  making  for  myself  a  new 
world,  and  experiencing  no  small  degree  of  happiness,  when 
a  letter  from  Lawrence  informed  me  that  my  wife  was  so  ill 
that  she  was  not  expected  to  recover. 

"I  hesitated  whether  I  should  return  or  not.  Finally  I 
determined  to  go.  I  thought  that  perhaps  on  her  death- 
bed she  might  do  rne  justice,  and  die  with  her  sins  forgiven  ; 
and  I  found,  too,  that  the  love  I  once  lavished  upon  her  was 
not  yet  dead  in  my  heart. 

'  "1  went  to  my  house  at  once  on  my  arrival  in  London.  I 
found  Francisca  suffering  under  a  severe  attack  of  typhus 
fever.  She  was  unconscious,  and  her  life  evidently  hung 
upon  a  thread.  Many  things  which  reached  my  ears  con- 
vinced ine  that  her  course  had  been  down'down,  till  she  had 
reached  a  level  from  which  it  was  impossible  she  could  ever 
be  raised  so  as  to  recover  my  respect.  Still,  she  was  sick 
and  helpless;  I  pitied  her;  I  remembered  what  I  had  once 
felt  for  her,  and  therefore  I  watched  by  her  side,  night  after 
night,  hoping  that  the  scale  would  turn  in  her  favor,  and 
that  she  might  yet  be  enabled  to  live  a  virtuous  life.  It  did 
turn.  Through  the  efforts  of  Dr.  Maxwell  and  Lawrence, 
and  perhaps  in  some  degree  through  the  careful  nursing  I 
gave  to  her,  her  disease  began  to  yield.  As  soon  as  she  be- 
came conscious,  I  spoke  to  her,  and  told  her  I  had  come  back 
to  take  care  of  her  till  she  recovered.  She  was  too  weak 
to  make  any  reply,  but  I  saw  that  she  recognized  me,  and 
that  her  dislike  was  as  intense  as  ever.  Day  by  day  she  got 
stronger,  and  day  by  day  her  hatred  grew  in  violence. 
Whenever  I  came  near  her  to  ask  how  she  did,  she  took 
especial  pains  to  express  her  aversion,  and  frequently 
threatened  to  kill  herself  as  the  only  effectual  means  of  get- 
ting rid  of  my  presence.  I  stayed  away  from  her,  therefore, 
and  went  to  live  with  Lawrence,  who  resided  not  far  from 
my  house.  I  came  every  day,  however,  two  or  three  time*, 
to  inquire  of  the  nurse  her  condition,  but  I  never  saw  her 
again  till  I  stood  by  her  death-bed. 

"  This  idea  of  suicide  seemed  to  grow  upon  her,  1  should 


360  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

judge  from  the  perusal  of  her  journal,  but  she  took  pains 
to  conceal  it  from  all  her  attendants.  She  told  them  that 
I  had  repeatedly  threatened  to  murder  her,  and  she  even 
told  some  of  them  that  I  had  attempted  it  twice.  When 
she  had,  as  she  thought,  poisoned  their  rninds  against  me, 
she  put  her  scheme  into  execution.  I  was  in  the  house  at 
the  time,  having  sat  up  in  the  room  adjoining  hers  all  night, 
in  consequence  of  a  slight  relapse  she  had  suffered  the  pre- 
vious day.  I  went  to  her  room  as  soon  as  I  was  called,  and 
found  her  suffering  great  pain.  I  saw  at  once  that  her 
symptoms  were  like  those  produced  by  poisoning  from 
strychnia,  and  sent  immediately  for  Dr.  Maxwell  and  Law- 
rence. As  she  lay  there,  writhing  in  convulsive  agony,  she 
repeatedly  accused  me  of  poisoning  her.  My  attempts  to 
win  her  to  the  truth,  and  to  make  her  see  the  evil  of  her  life, 
were  all  in  vain,  and  she  died  with  the  lie  on  her  lips. 

"No  one  knew  that  she  had  committed  suicide  but  Dr. 
Maxwell,  Lawreftce,  Ellen  Whiting,  and  myself.  Ellen  had 
been  the  unconscious  instrument  of  the  crime.  I  begged 
them  all,  for  the  love  they  bore  me,  to  keep  the  secret  locked 
in  their  own  breasts.  I  desired  to  spare  her  name  the  dis- 
grace which  attaches  to  self-murder.  She  had  enough  to 
bear  without  this  being  superadded.  She  was  not  buried 
before  I  was  half  suspected  of  having  killed  her.  It  was 
thought  by  some  of  her  friends  that  there  ought  to  be  a 
post-mortem  examination.  It  was  known  that  I  had  pur- 
chased a  quantity  of  corrosive  sublimate  shortly  before  her 
death,  and  this  substance  was  sought  for.  It  was  not  found  ; 
but  at  my  request  an  examination  was  made  for  strychnia, 
and  a  large  quantity  was  discovered.  This  fact,  however, 
was  not  mentioned.  It  was  known  but  to  the  four  persons 
who  knew  she  had  destroyed  herself. 

'"  The  suspicions  against  me,  therefore,  took  no  active 
form,  but  still  I  was  suspected.  Men  whom  I  had  counted 
as  my  best  friends  shunned  me,  and  many  of  those  who  had 
profited  most  by  my  companionship  or  influence  were  the 
first  to  give  me  up.  Then  I  learned  that  a  good  name 
borne  for  a  lifetime  avails  but  little  with  the  mass  of  man- 
kind when  suspicion  is  excited  against  its  possessor,  and 
kept  alive  by  those  who  are  envious  of  his  position.  The 
worst  injury  a  man  can  do  the  world  is  to  be  successful.  It 
never  forgives  him. 


ROBERT    SEVKRNE.  3t>l 

"  None  of  you  know  what  it  is  to  suffer  under  the  im- 
putation of  a  crime,  the  mere  contemplation  of  which  would 
excite  the  utmost  horror  in  your  breasts.  I  know  all  the 
torturing  emotions  which  this  great  wrong  can  cause,  and  I 
have  borne  them  for  many  years,  sustained  only  by  the 
friendship  of  a /ew  brave  and  devoted  friends,  and  above 
all,  by  the  consciousness  of  an  innocence  which  I  always 
knew  would,  in  the  end,  be  made  abundantly  manifest. 

"  I  resided  a  year  in  London  after  Francisea's  death, 
trying  to  stem  the  current  against  me,  and  to  live  down  the 
aspersions  cast  upon  my  honor,  but  it  was  in  vain.  If  I 
had  been  wealthy  I  should  doubtless  have  succeeded,  but 
Francisca  had  dissipated  all  the  money  I  had  given  her, 
and  my  father  having  been  induced  by  his  wife  to  give  credit 
to  the  falsehoods  she  told  him  in  regard  to  me,  I  would  not 
apply  to  him  for  aid.  The  small  means  I  had  reserved  for 
myself  out  of  my  mother's  fortune  were  almost  entirely  con- 
sumed in  paying  the  debts  Francisca  had  contracted.  I  re- 
solved, therefore,  to  shake  the  dust  of  England  from  my  feet, 
and  to  seek  in  another  laud  the  peace  which  was  denied  me 
here.  I  went  to  New  York,  knowing  no  one  in  that  great 
city  but  Lawrence.  He  gave  me  a  home,  loaned  me  money, 
secured  me  employment,  and,  above  all,  tried  to  keep  my 
heart  free  from  the  chilling  influence,  the  cynicism,  the  con- 
tempt of  mankind,  which,  had  I  been  left  to  my  own  thoughts, 
would  have  changed  its  nature. 

"  Within  two  years  after  my  arrival  in  that  city  I  heard 
that  ray  father's  wife  had  eloped  with  a  dissolute  nobleman  of 
her  country,  and  shortly  afterward  my  father  died.  I  might 
then  have  returned  and  entered  upon  the  enjoyment  of  my 
property,  but  I  decided  not  to  do  so.  I  was  determined  to 
achieve  success  without  any  other  aid  than  that  which  my  own 
persevering  efforts  could  give  me.  I  remained  there,  devo- 
ting myself  to  various  kinds  of  literary  and  scientific  labor, 
until  at  last  I  discovered  a  new  and  improved  metallurgic  pro- 
cess which  at  once  made  me  independent.  Then  I  sent  over 
to  this  country  and  took  my  property  ont  of  the  hands  of 
the  executors.  The  rest  you  know.  When  I  tell  you  now 
that  I  am  happy,  you  will"  understand  what  the  word  means 
for  me.  It  is  only  those  who  have  tasted  bitter  fruits  who 
can  appreciate  the  full  flavor  of  the  sweet.  Aud  all  this  I 


362  ROBERT   SEVERNE. 

owe  to  my  friends  and  my  enemies.  Without  the  one,  the 
occasion  for  proving  my  innocence  would  never  have  arisen; 
without  the  other,  I  should  not  have  attempted  to  vindicate 
myself  in  the  only  way  possible, — the  further  disgrace  of 
her  who  was  once  my  wicked  and  faithless  wife  ;  and  now, 
when  I  look  at  all  this,  and  recall  to  mind  that  it  is  God's 
work,  I  can  thank  him  in  the  same  breath  for  having  given 
me  enemies  as  well  as  friends." 


He  was  done.  The  story  of  his  life  had  been  told,  and 
he  was  left  alone  with  her  who  had  brought  the  first  light  to 
a  heart  darkened  by  misfortune.  Her  head  lay  upon  his 
breast,  and  he  played  caressingly  with  the  golden  hair  that 
half  concealed  her  beautiful  face.  "  My  darling,"  he  said,  as 
he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  lips,  and  looked  into  her  violet 
eyes  so  earnestly,  so  trustfully,  so  lovingly,  that  her  heart 
bounded  with  a  wild  delight,  "  it  is  worth  a  world  of  sorrow 
to  feel  the  happiness  of  this  hour.  Let  us  look  forward 
with  confidence  to  the  future  that  God  has  in  store  for  us. 
Hitherto  he  has  protected  us,  and  henceforth  he  will  not 
desert  us." 

"If  he  gives  me  the  power  to  make  yon  happy,  and 
grants  me  the  continuance  of  your  love,  I  shall  be  content." 

A  low  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  her.  Severne  went 
to  open  it,  and  there  stood  Sarah  as  pale  as  death,  and  with 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  took  her  by  the  hand  and 
led  her  into  the  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  child  ?"  he  said,  tenderly. 
"You  have  been  weeping!-  When  we  are  all  so  happy  you 
ought  to  be  joyful,  too." 

"I  could  not  go  to  bed,"  she  answered,  tearfully,  "with- 
out telling  you  something  of  what  I  feel.  You  had  learned 
how  false  one  woman  had  been;  you  knew  I  had  deceived 
you,  that  I  was  wicked  and  low — lower  even,  than  she  who 
had  done  you  so  much  wrong,  and  yet  with  all  this  knowl- 
edge you  took  me  by  the  hand,  forgave  me,  trusted  me, 
lifted  me  up  from  my  sin  and  shame,  found  me  friends  and 
a  dear  sister,  made  me  your  child,  and  gave  me  a  father's 
love.  I  know  that  I  am  not  what  I  ought  to  be ;  I  still 
feel  that  I  am  unworthy  of  all  your  kindness ;  but  I  do  not 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  363 

the  less  appreciate  it,  and  I  hope  in  time  to  prove  to  you 
that  your  goodness  has  not  been  altogether  in  vain." 

"  My  dear  Sarah,"  said  Severne,  "  you  have  proved  that 
to' me  long  ago.  You  prove  it  every  moment  of  your  life. 
Do  you  think  I  cannot  see  how  good  and  true  you  are  ?  how 
worthily  you  have  lived  up  to  the  promises  you  made  me  ? 
how  gentle  and  womanly  you  are  in  all  your  feelings  ?  My 
dear  child,  I  have  had  my  reward.  When  I  first  saw  your 
face,  over  a  year  ago,  by  the  light  of  a  street  lamp,  I  said 
you  were  at  heart  a  good  girl.  God  put  it  into  my  mind  to 
give  you  the  chance  to  throw  off  the  evil  that  surrounded 
you.  But  you  had  taken  the  first  steps  before  I  saw  you 
again ;  here  is  the  one  who  kindled  the  sparks  that  lay  hid, 
even  from  your  own  knowledge,  and  who,  by  the  simple 
power  which  goodness  can  always  exercise,  has  made  you 
what  you  are.  So  don't  let  me  see  any  more  tears  or  pale 
faces,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile.  "You  are  one  of  us; 
we  all  love  you  dearly,  and  we  intend  to  make  you  as  happy 
as  we  can." 

"  My  darling," said  Margaret  to  Sarah,  in  a  whisper,  "all 
the  love  you  and  I  can  give  him  will  not  be  the  half  he  de- 
serves. We  have  nothing  in  this  world  to  do  but  to  love 
him  and  seek  his  happiness.  He  is  the  noblest,  the  truest, 
the  bravest  man  that  ever  lived." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

IN    WHICH    MATTERS    GENERALLY    ARE    BROUGHT    TO    SATISFACTORY 
CONCLUSIONS,  AND    THIS    HISTORY    BROUGHT    TO   AN    END. 

THE  next  morning  at  breakfast  John  Holmes  thought  it 
time  to  state  the  results  of  his  study  and  perseverance  in  his 
chemical  pursuits.  All  were  in  such  excellent  spirits,  and 
apparently  so  disposed  to  see  the  ludicrous  side  of  a  subject, 
that  he  did  so  a  little  apprehensively.  "  It  will  amuse  tl.em 
at  anv  rate,"  he  said  to  himself;  "and  then,  I  am  not  at  all 
afraid  of  being  laughed  at."  Accordingly,  in  a  serious  mai 
ner  and  yet  with  occasional  gleams  of  sparkling  wit  am 


364  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

humor  which  made  them  all  laugh,  he  told  the  story  of  his 
secret  and  mysterious  labors  :  how  patiently  he  and  Joshua 
had  worked,  and  how  at  last  he  had  succeeded  iu  proving 
that  gold  was  not  a  simple  substance,  but  a  compound  of 
several,  a  new  metal  being  one  of  its  constituents.  "  This 
metal, "he  continued,  "was  discovered  through  the  exercise, 
by  a  young  lady  whom  I  know,  of  that  faculty  of  the  female 
mind  called  curiosity.  As  a  punishment,  I  decided  not  to 
name  it  after  her;  and  then  I  repented,  and  concluded  to  do 
her  a  still  greater  honor, — call  it  after  the  man  whose  name 
would  one  day  be  hers.  I  therefore  christened  it  Severnium, 
and  a  very  good  name  it  is,  too.  This  substance  is  the  es- 
sential constituent  of  gold,  and  with  it,  as  I  have  demon- 
strated, gold  can  be  made." 

"  I  am  deeply  sensible  of  the  honor  done  me,"  said  Severne, 
"and  in  my  own  behalf  and  that  of  the  meddlesome  young 
lady  for  whom  I  presume  to  speak,  desire  to  return  thanks. 
I  suppose,  now,  we  will  all  be  instructed  in  the  processes 
necessary  to  enable  us  to  manufacture  the  precious  metal  for 
ourselves  ?" 

"  Get  me  plenty  of  severnium,"  said  John  Holmes,  "  and  I 
will  make  you  plenty  of  gold." 

"  Why  can't  you  get  it  yourself?"  said  Lawrence. 

"  That  is  the  great  difficulty,"  replied  John  Holmes,  with 
a  sigh.  "  Hitherto  I  have  only  obtained  it  from  gold.  I 
have  separated  it  from  this  metal  over  and  over  again,  and 
recombined  it  with  the  other  constituents  and  made  the  gold 
repeatedly;  but  what  is  the  use  of  going  on  ad  infinitum, 
unmaking  and  making  the  same  piece  of  gold  ?  Unless  some 
one  will  put  me  iu  the  way  of  getting  severnium,  my  dis- 
covery is  a  highly  honorable  and  a  very  startling  one,  but 
is  not  at  all  likely  to  put  a  grain  more  of  gold  into  my 
pocket  than  is  there  now." 

"On  the  contrary, "said  Severne,  laughing,  "it  will  take  a 
good  many  grains  out.  However,  my  old  friend,  you  have 
money  enough.  You  are  fairly  entitled  to  the  honor  of 
having  established  a  great  scientific  fact,  and  you  ought  to 
be  satisfied." 

"  I  am  satisfied.  I  don't  want  any  more  money,  and  I 
intend  to  get  rid  of  what  I  have  very  soon.  But  now  that 
I  have  told  my  story,  what  are  we  to  do  with  ourselves? 


ROBERT    SEVERNE.  365 

Are  we  to  stay  in  Europe  much  longer,  or  shall  we  go  home 
as  soon  as  we  can  ?" 

"As  far  as  Lawrence,  de  Hutten,  and  myself  are  con- 
cerned," said  Severne,  "  I  think  I  may  safely  say  that  we 
have  had  traveling  enough.  Besides,"  he  continued,  glanc- 
ing at  Margaret  with  the  barest  trace  of  a  smile  on  his  face, 
"  i  have  some  very  important  business  to  attend  to  at  home 
which  will  not  admit  of  delay;  for  instance,  I  have  a  new 
agent  to  appoint,  and " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand  all  about  that," interrupted  John 
Holmes,  laughing.  "  Then  we  will  go  immediately ;  I'll 
see  to-day  about  the  passage  by  the  next  steamer.  So  we'll 
consider  that  as  settled,  if  there  is  no  objection." 

This  proposal  meeting  with  the  approval  of  all,  John 
Holmes  proceeded  to  get  ready  for  a  visit  to  the  office  of 
the  steamship  company,  and  the  party  was  about  breaking 
up,  when  de  Hutten,  who  had  been  looking  for  the  last  half 
hour  as  if  he  had  a  matter  of  some  importance  on  his  mind, 
requested  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  Severne. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  latter,  "  as  many  as 
you  wish  ;  come  into  the  next  room  and  join  me  in  a  cigar. 
I  think  tobacco  always  gives  a  finish  to  a  friendly  chat." 

When  they  were  alone  and  had  lit  their  Cabanas,  de  Hut- 
ten  said : 

"You  have  done  me  a  great  many  favors.  I  shall  always 
remember,  that  but  for  you,  I  should  never  have  succeeded  in 
finding  the  destroyer  of  my  kindred.  I  have  now  a  greater 
favor  yet  to  ask  of  you." 

"  I  don't  know  about  my  helping  you  to  kill  your  diaboli- 
cal enemy,"  replied  Severne,  with  a  smile.  "  I  think  your 
mysterious  pentagramrae  must  have  influenced  me  in  a  way 
that  I  could  not  resist.  But  whether  that  is  so  or  not,  you 
know  me  well  enough  to  believe  that  I  would  refuse  you 
nothing  in  my  power  to  grant." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  know,  and  I  trust  I  do  not  pre- 
sume upon  your  goodness  when  I  request  your  permission 
to  ask  your  ward  for  her  hand." 

Severne's  face  grew  troubled.    "  My  dear  friend,"  he  said, 
"  there  is  no  one  I  would  more  willingly  give  her  to  than 
you,  for  I  am  sure  you  would  make  her  happy, 
know  anything  of  her  past  history  ?" 

32 


366  ROBERT    SE VERNE. 

"  Nothing ;  I  have  not  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject.  I 
know  she  is  a  virtuous,  intelligent,  and  beautiful  woman, 
and  I  believe  she  would  make  me  a  true  and  faithful  wife ;  I 
love  her  very  dearly,  I  am  not  without  hope  that  she  loves 
me ;  and,  besides,  I  have  had  the  last  interview  with  my  great 
ancestor,  who  reappeared  to  me  last  night,  solely,  as  he  said, 
to  urge  me  to  do  that  which,  as  I  knew  before  he  told  me, 
would  of  all  things  conduce  most  to  my  happiness." 

"  It  would  be  wrong  in  me  to  let  you  enter  into  this  mat- 
ter," said  Severne,  gravely,  "without  acquainting  you  with 
all  the  circumstances  of  her  past  life  as  fully  as  I  know  them 
myself.  As  you  say,  she  is  a  virtuous  and  beautiful  woman, — 
beautiful  she  has  always  been,— but  there  was  a  time,  my  dear 
friend,  when  she  was  not  virtuous.  If,  after  you  have  heard 
what  I  have  to  tell  you,  you  should  still  ask  me  to  give  her 
to  you,  and  she  should  join  in  the  request,  I  will  put  her 
hand  in  yours  and  feel  that  one  more  blessing  has  been 
vouchsafed  me." 

And  then  Severne,  withholding  nothing  from  his  friend, 
told  him  all  he  knew  of  Sarah.  "Now,"  he  said,  "you  will 
be  able  to  act  with  the  full  knowledge  of  what  she  was  and 
what  she  is.  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  decide  at  present. 
Take  a  day  or  two  to  consider  the  matter.  It  is  one  which 
involves  her  happiness  and  yours,  and  should  not  be  settled 
hastily." 

De  Hutten  reflected  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  and 
then  he  asked : 

"  Do  you  love  her  ?" 

"  Very  dearly;  I  know  her  to  be  a  sweet,  an  affectionate, 
and  an  honest  girl." 

"And  I  love  her,  too,  for  what  she  is,  not  for  what  she 
was.  I  have  decided.  I  am  done  with  my  own  past,  and 
do  not  care  to  consider  hers.  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of 
her  during  the  time  we  have  been  in  London.  I  have  ob- 
served that  you,  and  Miss  Leslie,  and  Mr.  Holmes,  and 
Lawrence  respect  and  love  her ;  I  have  seen  that  her 
thoughts  and  impulses  are  all  good.  What  more  could  I 
ask  ?  I  would  rather  trust  her  than  many  princesses  I  have 
met." 

"And  so  would  I.  You  are  not  deceived  in  your  opinion 
of  her.  Go  and  plead  your  own  cause,  and  if,  when  I  re- 


ROBERT   SEVERNE.  3f,7 

turn  in  an  hour  or  two,  you  have  come  to  a  satisfactory  un- 
derstanding with  her,  you  will  find  me  rejoiced  to  learn  that 
she  is  to  have  so  true  and  good  a  man  for  her  husband  as 
my  friend,  Ulrich  de  Hutten.  By-the-by,  de  Hutten,"  he 
added,  returning  for  a  moment,  "  I  do  not  know  that  it  is  a 
matter  of  much  importance  to  you,  but  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  that  I  intend  to  give  her  a  marriage  portion  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  and  from  all  I  can  learn,  John  Holmes 
is  determined  to  get  rid  of  some  of  his  surplus  funds  in  the 
same  way." 

"  Pray  keep  your  money,  Severne.  What  you  have  al- 
ready given  me  is  fortune  enough.  It  is  as  well  you  should 
know,"  he  continued,  laughing,  "that  the  de  Hutten  estate 
is  big  enough  for  a  prince  and  princess,  and  that  it  was  never 
in  a  more  flourishing  condition  than  now." 

And  when  Severne  returned,  de  Hutten  and  Sarah  came 
to  him,  and  while  the  former  claimed  the  fulfillment  of  his 
promise,  Sarah  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  cried  the 
most  joyous  tears  she  had  ever  shed  in  all  her  life. 

'  He  says  he  knows  all,"  she  whispered  through  her  sobs. 

'  Yes,  my  dear  child,  he  does." 

'And  he  says  he  loves  me  very  much." 

'I  am  sure  of  it." 

'  Do  you  think  I  will  make  him  a  good  wife  ?" 

'Yes,  a  better  one  than  he  deserves." 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  breast  and  looked  into  his 
face  inquiringly. 

"  Has  he  told  you  his  life  and  adventures  ?"  continued 
Severne,  with  a  smile.  "  If  not,  get  him  to  do  so  some 
night  when  you  want  your  blood  frozen  with  terror,  when 
the  wind  howls,  and  when  the  air  may  be  supposed  to  be 
full  of  demons  of  all  kinds." 

"  I  shall  not  tell  her  till  we  are  married.  She  has  put  me 
on  probation  for  a  whole  year." 

"  No,  Ulrich,"  said  Sarah,  "  that  is  not  quite  correct.  I 
have  put  myself  on  probation.  Don't  you  think  I  am  right, 

P&"  Ves,  my  dear  child,  yon  are  right.  It  will  doubtless 
be  trying  to  de  Hutten,  but  I  don't  intend  to  give  you  up 
for  a  year.  There  was  no  time  mentioned  in  the  bond,  my 
German  friend.  I  have  become  so  much  of  a  Yankee  that 


368  ROBERT    SEVERNE. 

my  wits  are  as  sharp  as  those  of  the  'cutest  native  of  Con- 
necticut when  a  bargain  is  to  be  struck." 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  make  the  best  of  it,"  said  de 
Hutten,  ruefully.  "  I'll  write  to  my  steward  to  sell  Adler- 
fels  to  Prince  Dagowitz,  who  has  made  a  good  offer  for  it, 
and  I'll  turn  Yankee  like  the  rest  of  you." 

"A  very  sensible  conclusion  of  yours.  Now,  my  dear 
child,  go  and  tell  Margaret  what  you  have  done.  I  don't 
think  she  suspects  it  any  more  than  I  did  two  hours  ago. 
How  quiet  you  have  been  about  it  1" 

****** 

"And  when  am  I  to  reach  the  end  of  my  probation  ?" 
said  Severne  to  Margaret  that  evening,  after  he  had  given 
her  his  version  of  what  had  taken  place  between  de  Hutten 
and  Sarah. 

What  she  answered,  and  how  she  answered,  need  not 
be  particularized,  as  every  one  will  know  that  she  was  as 
gracious  in  the  matter  and  the  manner  as  it  was  possible  for 
any  young  woman  to  be,  placed  in  her  circumstances.  Sev- 
erne was  satisfied,  and  with  that  assurance  the  reader,  man 

or  woman,  may  well  be  content. 

****** 

"You  have  settled  all  your  own  affairs  to  your  satis- 
faction," said  Lawrence,  as  they  stood  together  on  the 
quarter-deck  of  the  Arago,  as  she  steamed  one  fine  morning 
through  the  Narrows  into  the  glorious  Bay  of  New  York ; 
"  but  I  do  not  see  that  I  am  any  nearer  the  haveii  that  every 
sensible  man  should  wish  to  reach.  I  set  out  over  a  year 
ago  to  get  Severne  married.  He  kicked  out  of  the  traces 
and  started  off  on  his  own  track.  He  went  farther  and  did 
not  fare  worse.  De  Hutten  too,  like  an  industrious,  plodding 
Teuton  that  he  is,  perseveres  for  a  dozen  years  or  more  in 
trying  to  find  a  mortal  enemy ;  succeeds  when  no  one  else 
would  have  dreamed  of  success,  and  before  one  knows  what 
he  has  further  in  contemplation,  steals  off  with  a  matrimo- 
nial prize  right  from  under  my  eyes.  I  don't  see  that  there 
is  anything  better  for  me  to  do  than  to  marry  Mrs.  Mark- 
land." 

"  I  am  afraid,  my  dear  Lawrence,"  said  Severne,  laughing, 
"  that  you  would  not  meet  with  success  enough  in  that  quarter 
to  keep  your  spirits  up  to  a  very  high  point.  I  think  our 


ROBERT   SErERNE.  369 

friend  Joshua  has  repented  of  his  determination.  He  said 
as  much  to  me  in  San  Francisco,  and  I  have  a  letter  for  the 
lady  which,  I  think,  contains  an  invitation  for  her  to  go 
to  California.  My  dear  fellow,  we  can  do  better  for  you 
than  that.  Don't  you  think  we  can,  Margaret  ?" 

"  Grace  Langley  !"  said  Margaret  and  Sarah  in  ajbreath. 

"Yes,"  replied  Severne,  "Grace  Langley.  You  tried  to 
find  me  a  wife  and  I  am  going  to  obtain  one  for  myself; 
now,  while  my  hand  is  in,  let  me-  get  one  for  you.  I  think 
I  have  some  influence  with  her." 

"  I  have  thought  of  her,"  said  Lawrence.  "  She  is  very 

pretty,  very  refined,  and  I  think  very  good.  Well,  well, 

we'll  see  about  it.  I  don't  know  any  one  who  would  make 
me  a  better  wife.  But  there  is  Goodall ;  no  one  seems  to 
have  thought  of  a  wife  for  him  1" 

"  Goodall  will  never  marry,"  said  John  Holmes,  sadly. 
"  He  and  I  will  live  together,  and  we  shall  not  be  unhappy. 
Oh,  my  friends,"  continued,  the  good,  the  noble  old  man, 
"we  have  all  suffered,  but  by  God's  help  we  have  triumphed 
over  our  misfortunes  and  converted  them  into  blessings. 
Let  us  not  forget,  however,  that  he  gives  the  victory  to 
those  who  with  steadfast  hearts  persevere  in  the  effort  to 
help  themselves.  We  have  all  learned  the  great  lessons 
which  are  taught  by  adversity, — lessons  which  unvarying 
good  fortune  can  never  impress  upon  our  hearts.  We  have 
obtained  a  deeper  knowledge  of  ourselves  and  of  our  fellow- 
men  than  years  of  unalloyed  enjoyment  could  have  given  us, 
and  I  trust  our  characters  have  been  strengthened,  and  our 
souls  expanded  by  the  sorrows  we  have  undergone.  Now, 
that  our  trials  are  apparently  over,  and  we  are  looking  for- 
ward to  a  renewal  of  our  lives,  we  know  how  to  value  the 
teachings  of  our  dearly-bought  experience,  and  we  will  not 
forget  to  thank  our  Father,  who,  in  his  own  good  time,  and 
with  his  own  means,  has  set  all  things  right." 


THE     END. 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000037607    9 


